


Hold the World Together

by pepperlandgirl4



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Western, Complete, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 15:25:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8290853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperlandgirl4/pseuds/pepperlandgirl4
Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester are wanted for robbing stage coaches and wagon trains across the western territories and they don't just take money. Sometimes, they take educated men. A mysterious scroll holds the promise of a better life for the two brothers, if only they could find somebody who could read the strange marks on the page. Harvard graduate Kevin Tran jumps at the chance to teach languages at the new University of California, eager to leave his life behind even if it means a dangerous cross-country journey. He knows there are bandits in the western mountains, but he never expects the most infamous of those bandits to stop his wagon train and steal him away into the night. Kevin  knows he should fear for his life, but somehow, when he's with Sam, he doesn't fear anything at all





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Brigham Young's letter to President Lincoln regarding the Uintah mountains a land "so utterly useless that's its only purpose was to hold the other parts of the world together."

Kevin Tran met Dean Winchester five days after his younger brother, Sam, kidnapped Kevin from a wagon train heading to California. He was on top of Kevin in a flash, pushing him down with a hand around his throat. 

 

“Who is this?” Dean snarled. Sam jumped to his feet, biscuits and beans forgotten next to the fire. Dean’s hand was already moving to his gun, and  _ sonofabitch, _ Kevin thought,  _ Castiel hadn’t caught up to him.  _

 

“Dean, stop.” He touched Dean’s arm, and Kevin couldn’t tell if it was that or his question that finally pulled Dean’s attention away from him.  “Where’s Cas?” 

 

“What do you mean? He’s not here?” 

 

“No. He went to find you.” 

 

“When was this?” 

 

Sam looked to Kevin, who knew exactly how long it was, but had no idea if either of them expected him to volunteer the information. Didn’t Sam remember? Panic flared in Kevin’s chest at the thought of being Dean’s prime target again. It was clear why the Winchester had the reputation they did. Sam had almost made him  _ forget _ , but Dean’s presence alone was an intense reminder. 

 

They were killers. 

 

If he tried to flee, they would kill him. Sam had already made it clear that nobody who knew where the hideout was would ever  _ leave _ . Not walking. Most likely, he’d be buried there. If he was lucky and they didn’t just toss him to the wolves he’d heard howling in the not too distant cliffs.  He didn’t want to be put out to die.  _ Death by exposure _ , Sam had stated simply. 

 

Kevin’s mute acceptance of that fact allowed him to be free of the rope tied around his wrists and ankles. Sam had removed them almost as soon as they reached the mostly buried boxcar. The two brothers had dug into an embankment--Kevin had no idea how they had achieved this. 

 

So he wasn’t going to run. 

 

He just hoped he wouldn’t get shot. But maybe that was asking too much. 

 

“Two, nearly three, days ago.” Sam said, gradually drawing Dean away from Kevin with his grip on the shorter man’s elbow.  “Right after we got back from Emigration canyon.” 

 

“Is that where you found this one?” 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

“What is he doing here?” 

 

“Cas brought him, actually. He said he was educated. Said he could read the scroll.” 

 

Dean’s head whipped around, but this time,  he didn’t have death in his eyes. It made his stare slightly more bearable. “You can read that gobbledy-gook?” 

 

Kevin had no idea how to answer that question. This was the first he’d heard of any parchment, and yes, he could read several languages, but that didn’t mean Kevin could read the specific  _ gobbledy-gook _ Dean Winchester was interested in. 

 

But there was only  _ one _ answer to that question. He quickly nodded. “Yes, of course, I can read ... I know many languages.” 

 

“Cas said that he was exactly what we were looking for. I think he knew Kevin was on that wagon train. There wasn’t anything else to take.” 

 

“Is that where Cas went? To get the scroll?” 

 

“Yes. He said he was going to fetch you, too, so there wasn’t any confusion about our guest.” 

 

“You talked to him about the wolves.” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

“He well behaved?” 

 

“I haven’t had any problems with him.” 

 

“Three days?” 

 

“About that.” 

 

“Sonofabitch.” 

 

“You want to eat something first?” 

 

“Three days, we should have crossed paths.  Not too many ways in and out, Sam, we would have seen each other.” 

 

Sam frowned. “You think something happened to him?” 

 

“Something happened to him or the scroll.” 

 

“I can come with you.” 

 

“No, you gotta stay here and keep this one alive. It won’t do any good to retrieve Cas and the map only to have the key up and die on us.” 

 

Kevin almost sighed with relief at that. It seemed less likely Dean would shoot him, and his stomach settled down. It even growled a little, reminding him that most of his meal was still in his lap. And since it was his  _ only _ meal of the day,  he was eager to get back to it. 

 

“Fine. But at least take some biscuits with you.” He was wrapping two into a cloth he pulled from his pocket, as if he kept one there for precisely that purpose, as he spoke, giving Dean no chance to decline the second offer of food. Sam had already pressed the little package into his palm as Dean opened his mouth. 

 

“He’s probably not more than a day’s ride out, anyway. You can’t see everything all the time.” 

 

“ _ He _ can.” 

 

That sounded utterly ridiculous to Kevin, but Sam’s lack of response almost had him believing in the literal truth of that statement. 

 

“I’ll keep an ear open,” Sam said as Dean tugged the door open. It was already late evening, the few clouds in the sky tinged a soft pink with the last of the light.  Night fell rapidly after this moment, and  Sam was thinking the same thing. “You’re not going to get far before you have to make camp anyway.” 

 

“I’m not gonna make camp.” He jumped out the door and turned around to add. “Keep your eye out, too, while you’re at it.” 

 

“An eye out for what?” 

 

“I’m taking your horse.” 

 

“He’d rather be moving then penned up anyway.” 

 

They exchanged a few more words about supplies--Sam had mentioned a supply run earlier that night. He’d clearly been excited about the venture, but Kevin figured he’d just have to ride some ungodly distance to buy more beans, and that was far from exciting. Beans for them and….well, what did they feed the horses? How did the poor beasts survive? And how far would they have to ride for the beans anyway? 

 

“Well, that was actually better than I expected.” 

 

“But didn’t you expect Cas to find him?” 

 

“I did.” 

 

“Wasn’t Cas supposed to explain everything to him? And  _ that _ was still better than you expected?” 

 

“Absolutely.” Sam folded his long body back into his seated position and resumed eating his biscuit like nothing had interrupted him. 

 

Kevin looked down, idly counting each bean on his plate while he considered his options. If he was expected to read some sort of scroll, he needed to know the language. But Sam hadn’t uttered one word about it before, and that might mean Sam had  _ no _ intention of discussing it with him and questions would only irritate him. Kevin didn’t really want to risk irritating Sam, though he did have the reputation of being the reasonable one, and he supposed, compared to Dean, he really  _ was _ the reasonable one. 

 

“It’s best to let Cas explain it to you,” Sam said between bites before Kevin gathered his courage. “He’s the one who understands it.  It is gobbledy-gook to me and Dean, but Cas has made some sense of it.” 

 

Kevin nodded. He ate slowly, taking the time to chew each bean separately. There was no point in rushing it. There wouldn’t be anymore in a long time, and once he finished his supper, there wouldn’t be much to do but stare into the fire. The Winchester brothers were illiterate, they didn’t keep books around.  Cas might have one tucked away somewhere, but Kevin didn’t think Sam would take kindly to him poking through their private effects. 

 

“Are you worried about him?” Kevin asked. 

 

“Dean can find his way in the dark.” 

 

“I was talking about Cas.” 

 

“Not at all,” Sam said mildly. 

 

And yet Dean couldn’t even take the time to eat a mouthful of beans, he was so concerned about the other man. 

 

Kevin tucked away that fact for later consideration.

 

They passed several long moments in companionable silence, Kevin more full of questions than he was beans.  He didn’t like the silence, so he picked one. 

 

“How far do you ride for the supplies?” 

 

“A week round trip, five days if we push it.” 

 

“How often do you go?” 

 

Sam shrugged his shoulder. “Every few months. But maybe Cas is late because he stopped on his way up. Sometimes he does that.” 

 

“Does he get anything but beans?” 

 

Sam grinned. “You’re used to finer meals, I reckon.” 

 

“Well, this is good,” Kevin said quickly, “but yes, I’m used to more...variety.” 

 

“They must feed you well in college.” 

 

They  _ had _ fed him well at Harvard. He tried not to let himself think about that. When he did, he got to missing the place so much it made him ache. He should have  _ never _ left Boston, no matter how intolerable the city had become, or how tempting the invitation to teach at the University of California had been. 

 

“Sorry but there’s not much other than beans this time of year.  And most of the game has moved further south for the season.” 

 

Sam actually sounded apologetic, like he was genuinely sorry Kevin was now in the position where he had to survive off a plate of beans every day. Kevin nearly accepted his apology before he remembered that he should be in his own cozy apartment, surrounded by books and texts waiting to be translated, maybe with a domestic who came in once a day to clean and dust and make his dinner. 

 

Now, because of this man and some mysterious parchment, he was never going to know that life. He’d probably never touch an actual book again, and once he told the Winchester what they wanted to hear, it’d probably be the last thing he ever said to anybody. The beans suddenly felt like hundreds of tiny pebbles sitting in the bottom of his stomach, and he gnawed on his biscuit, hoping that would calm the tension in his gut. 

 

Once the food was gone, he scraped his spoon across the plate until it was completely clean, loath to set it aside. Sam had already moved on, and he had one of his rifles resting on his lap, whistling under his breath as he took it apart and cleaned it. It might have seemed like a threat, except for the fact that Sam cleaned his weapons every night. And he had a lot. He collected them like Kevin collected books, and Kevin supposed there wasn’t much else for him to do as the long, winter night descended on them. The fire didn’t do much to fend off the darkness, though it crackled and sparked without interruption, fed by Sam from a huge pile he and Dean had obviously spent most of the summer gathering. 

 

Sam had given him an old Indian blanket and Kevin pulled that tighter around his shoulders and lowered himself to his side, staring at Sam ‘s hands through the flickering shadows. They were massive, his fingers long and quick, his palms big enough to crush a person’s skull.  Still, despite the potential of great violence beneath each small gesture and flicker of light, Kevin found himself entranced by the sight. So much so that sometimes he actually forgot the fact that he didn’t have his books, and they were likely lost forever. 

 

His face felt hot from the fire, his skin tight over his cheeks, and his eyelids heavy.  The repetitive gestures of cleaning the rifle started to lull him, but he fought the urge to sleep, forcing his eyes to stay open as long as he could. Sleep was a false comfort. It passed the hours quicker, but it always left him sore and aching when he awoke, his back and joints constantly complaining about the deep cold that even the coziness of the boxcar and heat from the small fire could not combat. It got cold back home, but never  _ inside  _ where he slept. 

 

Sam finished cleaning the rifle and reassembled it before reaching for his double-barrel shotgun. Kevin wished he knew more about guns, but that knowledge seemed special, reserved for those who could wield them, not for those, like him, who’d most likely meet his end staring down the barrel of one.

 

Kevin succumbed to sleep before Sam set the shotgun aside, but his dreams were full of black, shining barrels with hair triggers, and wolves with empty stomach. 


	2. Chapter 2

The Winchester brothers gained notoriety by holding up stagecoaches enroute to California, stopping them in the deserts and the high mountain passes. They never stopped a coach in the same place twice and they easily stayed ahead of the law. News of their holdups traveled across the country, west to east, north to south, and everybody, even Kevin, knew of the danger they posed. 

 

But Kevin had never believed  _ he _ would be a target. They never stopped wagon trains and though he felt a few moments of trepidation as he boarded the train that took him across the Mississippi, he’d been more excited than afraid about his adventure. It was the first time he’d ever left his home state, the first time he ever traveled more than two hours from the house where he’d been born, and the first time he’d ever set off to do something on his own. 

 

It was hard to keep track of time in the hideout. Sam let Kevin venture outside the door to relieve his bladder and see to his other business once or twice a day, and that at least allowed him to mark the passage of time. Sam never let him linger, and that was fine with Kevin. He didn’t enjoy the biting wind that swept down from the northern peaks, and the tree-lined ridges and cliffs were disorienting, to say the least. Plus, he didn’t want the wolves to catch a hint of his scent--he reasoned that would only whet their appetites. 

 

The night after Dean’s brief appearance, it snowed. Kevin stepped out of the boxcar into four new inches of the white powder, and the large flakes danced on the wind and rested on his hair and eyelashes and hands. He peered up at the sky, looking for a break in the clouds, but they were heavy and so gray they were almost black. Sam was right behind him, and took a deep, satisfied breath as he emerged from the stale air. 

 

“This is going to be a big one,” he said conversationally. “I hope they get back soon.” 

 

“What do you mean?” This wasn’t the first snowstorm of his captivity, but those storms had always blown themselves out in the night, leaving a fresh blanket on the ground to meet the morning sun. “How long will this one last?” 

 

Sam shrugged. “A few days at least. It’s going to block the pass. If they’re not on the right side, it’ll be weeks before they get back.” 

 

Kevin’s eyes widened. “Block the pass. Does that mean we’re going to be stuck here?” 

 

“Well, yeah. But you weren’t going anywhere, anyway.” 

 

Subdued by that reminder, Kevin stopped talking and turned his attention back to the surrounding mountains. The trees were already starting to droop from the new weight of snow. He thought he caught movement to the south, but it was hard to tell. It may have just been the snowflakes and shadows playing a trick on his tired eyes. But he saw it again, and this time, it seemed closer. 

 

“Is that something?” He pointed in the general direction of the movement, and Sam followed the line of his finger, squinting into the distance. 

 

“That’s them,” he said with obvious relief. 

 

Kevin shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. He was ready to go back inside, to the fire, but Sam seemed content to stand in the deepening snow and wait. Gradually the shadows Kevin first noticed took shape, and he saw the riders approaching side by side, one shorter and a bit stouter than the other. The bay horse Dean rode still had some energy in his step, but Cas’s white gelding, Sugar, slowed their arrival as it carefully picked its way along the trail, exhausted from its long journey. Dean could have easily spurred his horse into a trot and reached the warm cave, but he held the bay back, staying right at Cas’s side. 

 

“Cas got himself a mule,” Sam said with an unmistakable note of happiness. 

 

“Isn’t that just another mouth to feed?” 

 

“He’s got supplies.” 

 

“Oh.” And now that Sam said it, he could see the smaller beast following close behind Sugar on a short lead. Bags were piled high on the mule’s back. 

 

“He probably has coffee,” Sam added. 

 

Coffee. Kevin had never been a big fan of it, preferring tea, but now he craved it. Hot, dark, bitter coffee that would warm his fingers and his cold, dry throat. The air, even in the snow, was bone dry and bitter cold, irritating his sinuses and his ears, and he could have cried at the thought of a steaming cup, all to himself. 

 

“Do you think so?” Hope seeped from every word. 

 

“He’s not as tight as Dean. He’s not going to buy a mule and not buy coffee.” 

 

They moved at a steady pace, not speeding up just because they were within sight of their home. Kevin started to shiver. He’d lived through twenty-five winters, but he felt quite certain he’d never been this cold before. Who were these men, who could carve out a life here, year after year?

 

Dutch, a massive sorrel stallion, whinnied as he caught the scent of the two geldings. Sugar nickered in response, tossing his head and stepping up into a trot. Cas didn’t try to pull him back, and the whole party followed suit.  _ Finally, _ Kevin thought,  _ somebody’s reasonable.  _

 

The horses didn’t stop until they reached the small enclosure that kept them safe and warm through the winter. A shelter had been constructed between five aspen trees, each trunk acting as a pillar to support the roof and back wall, made of logs. There was enough of a roof to keep them dry and the ground packed down with dirt. They’d long ago chewed the bark off the logs surrounding them, and the trees looked like white, bare bone jutting out of the ground. 

 

Cas and Dean dismounted, and Sam hurried to help, collecting the supplies from the mule while they unsaddled their horses. The snow was blowing faster, the wind picking up in speed, but they silently took the time to brush the horses down and fit a blanket over their backs before feeding them what they could spare of hay and oats. 

 

“Kevin, come here.” 

 

The snow on the ground was high enough to completely envelope his feet, and he didn’t have sturdy boots that would keep his toes dry. He was already fully aware of how little protection his shoes offered, but he still responded quickly, bounding through the snow to Sam’s side. 

 

“Take care of this mule.” 

 

“Take care of it?” 

 

“Brush him down, feed him, make sure there aren’t any rocks in its hooves.” Sam thrust the rope in his hands and walked away without another word, carrying the bags and boxes on his broad shoulders. Kevin looked down helplessly at the rope and then over to the mule, who rolled his eyes and shifted his weight. 

 

“Here.” Cas pressed the brush into Kevin’s other hand. “And hurry up. It’s cold out here, kid.” 

 

Kevin nodded numbly. He’d never brushed an animal down before, but the mule wasn’t as big as a horse, and he seemed good-natured enough. 

 

“Under the shelter,” Cas said, pushing Kevin’s shoulder, forcing him out of his stasis. Dean was under the shelter, seeing to Dutch now that the other two horses were comfortable and fed. Kevin tugged on the lead, bringing him to the far end--as far as he could get away from Dean. 

 

“You’re gonna want to tie him to that tree. Or hobble him,” Dean said, without looking up. 

 

Kevin wrapped the rope around the tree trunk and tied a knot--a rather good knot, by his own reckoning. He didn’t think the mule would get far. 

 

“What’s his name?” Kevin asked nobody in particular. 

 

“Hasn’t got one,” Dean said. 

 

“He ought to.” 

 

“Name him if you want. You’re the one who’ll see to him.” 

 

The mule would be his responsibility? Every day? How did that make sense? It was on the tip of his tongue to say as much when he glanced over and realized Dean was looking at him, perhaps waiting for the very protest Kevin was about to voice. 

 

“I think Darwin is a good name,” he blurted instead. He wasn’t sure why  _ Darwin _ was the first name on the tip of his tongue, of all names, but he couldn’t think of a better one. 

 

Dean’s only response was a shrug, and Kevin focused on Darwin.  He seemed happier now he was out of the snow. The wall blocked the north wind, sheltering them from the worst of the cold, and steam rose from the mule’s body, heat radiating from him. All in all, it was much less miserable there, and Kevin actually enjoyed running the bristly brush over the beast, who seemed to appreciate it, too. 

 

“Here.” Cas gave him a bag, which held Darwin’s portion of the food. Kevin held it open at the mule’s nose, smiling as he pushed his head instead the canvas and began to chomp happily. “Just pour it in the corner. Come on.” 

 

Kevin did as he was told, giving the mule one final pat while Cas double-checked the knot. He nodded in approval. “Nice work.” 

 

Cas led the way back to the boxcar, Kevin following in the footprints he left in the fresh snow, and Dean walking right behind him. It took all of Kevin’s self-control not to look over his shoulder and make sure Dean wasn’t pointing a gun at his back. He forgot all about Dean, though, when Cas pulled the door open and allowed the fresh smell of coffee and, god in heaven,  _ bacon.  _ Kevin couldn’t scramble into the car fast enough, his wet feet forgotten as his stomach roared its approval and interest. 

 

Once Dean shut the door behind him, the miserable blizzard was forgotten. The car was warm and snug, and even the wind didn’t sound quite so angry within its walls. Kevin peeled his shoes off and sat as close to the fire as he possibly could without getting in anybody’s way. Sam passed him a tin cup, and his nostrils flared as the fragrant coffee passed under his nose. At the first sip, Kevin realized three things at once--it was hot enough to burn his mouth, it was much stronger than  _ any _ coffee he ever drank back home, and there was  _ sugar _ in it. 

 

Actual sugar. 

 

Coffee was exciting enough, but it seemed like he was living in a whole new world now that they had  _ sugar _ . 

 

“So what happened to you?” Sam asked as he stirred the sizzling bacon, crouched on his haunches over the fire. 

 

“I got detained.” 

 

“Yeah, at church,” Dean said sourly. 

 

“I didn’t know you were a religious man, Cas.” 

 

“I’m not. They needed a doctor and I was there.” 

 

“One more day and you would have been stuck at the pass until spring.” 

 

“I’m aware there was a certain risk,” Cas said mildly, “but they needed my help.” 

 

Dean didn’t seem to like that answer, but Sam broke in before he could lengthen the argument. 

 

“Did you get the scroll?” 

 

“Yes, I did.” Cas finally swung his gaze from Dean to assess Kevin before flickering back to meet Sam’s. “Right where I left it.  We’ll have a look after dinner.” 

 

Kevin’s throat tightened and he nervously sipped his coffee. He’d been hoping Cas would demure until the morning, giving him at least one more night of comfort. He could read five languages fluently, and was more than passingly familiar with a dozen others, but he was effectively hobbled without his library. If he could take the parchment back to Harvard with him, he could unlock all of its mysteries, but he had the feeling that nobody would agree to that plan. 

 

Sam dished up a generous portion of beans and bacon and biscuits for everybody, handing Kevin his plate last. They ate in silence punctuated by Dean’s chomping and an occasional burp from Cas. They sat beside each other, close enough their shoulders touched, though there was plenty of the room to spread out around the fire. They’d dug a pit through the floor and into the ground and lined it with rocks, allowing for a deep, wide fire, the smoke escaping through an opening they left in the roof. But Cas didn’t seem interested in any of the open space between himself and Kevin. 

 

Cas’s delivery also included candy. “No tobacco, though,” Cas said with a heavy sigh as he passed the treat around. While Kevin savored it, Cas explained that a young wife had gone into early labor. Her husband, terrified that he would lose her, carried her to the church. He could do nothing but pray, while the valley’s only doctor had been tied up on the other side of the settlement, where a boy had lost his leg in a logging accident.

 

Somehow, the young woman had survived the first night, still drawing breath when they caught sight of Cas. He’d arrived just in time, and there was no question of helping her. They called him the answer to their prayers and the young man, Kyle Hoyt, had been more than happy to surrender a good portion of his own winter stores to ensure Cas’s survival. Cas had stayed long enough to make sure that both child and mother would survive the ordeal. The baby was little, but she was strong. Cas’s voice held unmistakable pride, even as Dean rolled his eyes. 

 

“She was lucky you were passing through,” Sam said. 

 

“They’re both lucky.” 

 

“That baby is none of your concern and  you could have died with a delay like that,” Dean snarled. 

 

“That baby is the reason you’re enjoying such finely cured bacon.” 

 

Dean didn’t respond, only puffed at his pipe and passed it over. Cas took it from him and brought to his lips, halos of smoke drifting above his brow.  

 

These men were stone cold killers? Kevin had to admit, at that moment, he couldn’t quite believe it. His fear level dropped to a new low, and he happily sucked on his candy, feeling sleepy and full and almost content. 

 

All that changed when Dean said, “Show him the scroll.” 

 

Kevin sat up a little straighter, his stomach dropping like a stone. Cas’s saddlebags were within reach, and he retrieved a retrieved a wood cylinder from the pouch and popped the top open. He moved from Dean’s side, shifting closer to Kevin as he unrolled the scroll. In the center was a beautifully drawn valley at the base of a tall waterfall, twin peaks cradling the river between them. Above and below the image was small, tightly drawn characters. The style wasn’t ornate or even particularly careful. Compared to the illustration, the writing was rushed and almost ugly. 

. 

 

“Can you read it?” Dean asked urgently. 

 

“I can,” Kevin said slowly, and it wasn’t a lie. He could read it. Not easily. Not well. Not without a great deal of effort. But it could be done. 

 

“What does it say?” Dean demanded. 

 

Kevin desperately searched for the best way to say  _ I have no idea _ but Cas answered first. 

 

“It’s more complicated than that, Dean. He’ll need some time.” The wind picked up swiftly, howling so loudly that Kevin thought the door must have been ripped open. “And fortunately, we have all winter.” 

 

“Where did it come from,” Kevin asked, curious about the artist who could draw with such a graceful hand. 

 

“You don’t need to know that,” Dean said. 

 

Cas carefully rolled the scroll up again and said under his breath, “We’ll discuss it later.” 

 

“I”m ready to bunk down,” Dean announced. 

 

Kevin slept where he fell by the fire, wrapped up in his blanket and wishing for a pillow, missing his feather bed and fine sheets. Dean, however, moved to the far end of the boxcar, and Cas followed him. Kevin tried not to stare, but it soon became clear that they were bunking down  _ together _ on Dean’s pallett. 

 

_ Maybe that’s how they keep warm, _ Kevin reasoned. Sam nodded as they walked by him, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge the arrangement at all. Sleeping on the same pallet, under the same blanket even, must have been a regular occurrence. Kevin pointedly didn’t look at them again, though his curiosity burned. 

 

He did look later, though. Something woke him after Sam had fallen asleep. Sam’s breathing was even, occasionally interrupted by a soft snort, but Kevin gradually became aware of the fact that Sam was the only one asleep. Lifting his head slightly, he watched as Dean’s shadow moved on the wall in a slow, familiar rhythm. 

 

Kevin had spent his first two years at Harvard in the dormitory, and he knew exactly what to do when he saw interesting shadows on the wall--he ducked his head and went back to sleep. 


	3. Chapter 3

News of the wagon train stop didn’t reach the east coast until nearly a month after Kevin disappeared. It was big news when the Winchester absconded with gold, but nobody on the wagon train knew Kevin--he was just a stranger who bought passage in Missouri--and nobody lost anything valuable. It was only when Kevin failed to present himself at the University of California that somebody made contact with Harvard. As nobody had seen him around campus, an attempt was made to reach his parents. 

 

When the first day of classes started and Kevin still didn’t report for duty, the Dean wired Kevin’s previous address, and the current occupant forwarded the message to Kevin’s parents, which was forwarded to Rufus Crane Esquire. He immediately wired Roger and Linda Tran in Paris, whose response came two weeks later.  _ Find Kevin. Spare no expense.  _

 

Rufus, born and raised in Brooklyn, had no idea how or where to find Kevin. They were a world away from him, and he was more of a numbers man. But he had a friend, Calico Joe, who’d spent several years after the War as a bounty hunter, until a bullet took out his knee and an infection finished the job of his leg. He spent most of his time reading about insects--he thought he might like to travel to South America one day to do a survey of them--but he and Rufus met a few times a months.

 

Calico Joe had a friend in Denver, Bobby Singer. Before the War, Bobby rode with the Texas Rangers along the Rio Grande. After the War, he moved to the Black Hills and tried his own hand at mining. He did a fair job of it, but he found it was easier to make a coin or two with his gun than it was with a pickaxe and a pan. There were plenty of bounties to be had in the Dakota territory, and Bobby developed a fearsome reputation--he was known to always find his man. 

 

Now, he was a rare breed--a retired bounty hunter. His hair was white, his face deeply lined by the sun and the wind, and he walked tall and sure, without a limp to betray the number of years he spent on the back of a horse. Bobby didn’t socialize much, but any time Joe passed through Denver, they shared a dinner and a drink, and he didn’t ignore telegrams from the man. He and Joe had shared quite a few bounties over the years. In fact, Joe was among a handful of men Bobby considered trustworthy. 

 

_ Boy missing. Reward dead or alive.  _

 

Bobby Singer married a woman named Jo and retired to Denver, where he spent most of his free time writing in a journal and being delighted by his young, bright wife. After a lifetime of ugliness, she was a sweet ray of sunshine to keep him warm in his twilight years, and he didn’t want to leave her. Not for a missing boy. Not for anybody. But a second telegram followed. 

 

_ Missing for two months.  _

 

Jo intercepted the third telegram, as she was expecting a message from her sister, and was visibly upset when she brought it to her husband. 

 

_ Reward whether boy is dead or alive. _

 

“What’s going on, Bobby? What boy?” 

“I don’t some. My old friend Joe thinks I’m the man to retrieve him. I told him I’m not the one.” 

 

His response was simply  _ no. _ He’d gone up to two words for his next reply.  _ Too late. _ It was too late. Too late for him. Too late for the boy. It was cold, getting worse by the day as the fall wore on. Soon it would be dark fourteen hours a day, and it was damned hard to do any traveling, much less hunting, in the cold and the dark. Bobby hadn’t enjoyed it as a young man, and it would take a lot more than a few words from Calico Joe to make him do it again. 

 

“I think you are,” Jo said softly. 

 

Bobby didn’t quite believe his ears. Or rather, he didn’t want to believe his sweet wife could possibly mean such a thing. 

 

“Indians probably got that boy. It’s a sad thing, but it happens.” 

 

“If you wait much longer, the trail will get cold.” 

 

He’d never questioned his wife’s intelligence before, but now he wondered if she understood what she was saying. Bobby was too old to be tracking a dead body through the mountains, his joints too brittle, and his old scars and wounds tended to flare up in the cold. Lately, he’d been considering leaving Denver for a fairer climate. Los Angeles was nice. Wyatt Earp had retired there, and Bobby liked the thought of leaving the winter behind him forever. He was used to people now, much less apt to find trouble in the crowd.  

 

“What’s the matter?” Jo frowned “You don’t think you can find him?” 

  
  


“I’d like a few more biscuits tonight, dear.” 

 

Jo nodded and that was the end of the conversation. She’d said her piece and then held her tongue, but her eyes always spoke louder than words. He’d made it a point to learn how to read those eyes when he was courting her and it was how he’d won her heart. She lost patience with all the young bucks who never seemed to understand her way of thinking. He understood her, though. And he understood the disappointment he saw there every time she glanced up from her chores. 

 

She was silent over dinner, feeding him his pork belly and extra biscuits and buttermilk without so much as a smile. Without her smile, the food sat heavy in his stomach. 

 

“You’re upsetting my digestion. What’s wrong with you tonight?” 

 

“Nothing, dear.” 

 

“Don’t say that, like I’m a fool. Well, maybe you think I am a fool. Maybe that’s why you think I should go riding after that boy.” 

 

“I don’t think you’re a fool.” Her voice was tight and low, like she was struggling to keep a respectful tone.  “But perhaps I am.” 

 

“You’re the least likely person I ever met to be called a fool,” Bobby said gruffly. “If I’ve said something to upset you, I apologize.” 

 

“No, you’ve said nothing to upset me. It’s just...I thought...I thought the stories about you were true.” 

 

Jo certainly had her choice when it came to husbands and she didn’t have to accept Bobby Singer’s proposal. He was the oldest of her suitors by over twenty years, and though he wasn’t a  poor man, he certainly didn’t have the most to offer her. But he’d won her heart. She mentioned once that she read stories about him in newspapers and pulp magazines, but never divulged the details, and never asked him for any either. 

 

“Maybe they were. Maybe they weren’t. But they are old. Like me.” 

 

She jumped to her feet, visibly upset and rushed to his side. “You’re not old. You know I hate it when you say such things.” 

 

“You keep me young, darling.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her into his lap. She hooked her arm around his shoulder and stared at him with round, unhappy eyes.  He hated to see her unhappiness. He hated to think about the hours that were slipping away from him, the years that had already gone, and the trail that grew colder by the minute. 

 

“I don’t want you to leave.” She skimmed her lips over his cheek, his stubble rough against her soft lips. “I hate the thought of you being gone. But I also hate to think about what that poor boy is going through.” 

  
  
  


Bobby wrapped his arms around her tighter and stood, carrying her to bed. He planned to stay there for as long as possible, but a sharp knock on his front door just after dawn pulled him from Jo’s warm embrace. He expected another telegram--and he intended to shoot the messenger boy for disturbing him--but it was something much worse than a piece of paper. 

 

“What are you doing here?” Bobby growled.  “Joe should have come himself, if he was so worried.” 

 

The younger man tilted the brim of his hat up his brow.  Cole Trenton had only been a boy the last time Bobby saw him, no more than fifteen. Twenty years had passed, and yet, somehow he looked even younger.  “The cold disagrees with his stump. Anyway, he didn’t send me.” 

 

“Then what are you doing here?” 

 

“So far I’m enjoying the warm welcome.” 

 

Bobby frowned. He didn’t like the boy’s tone. But Cole continued talking. “I was on my way home when I heard the news.” 

 

“What news?” 

 

“That you’re going after the Winchester.” 

 

Bobby frowned. “Who said that?” 

 

“It’s the talk I’ve heard. I’ve come to see if it’s true.” 

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

 

“Yeah, I can see that.  It was the Winchester that took that boy.” 

 

“Then I know he’s dead.” 

 

“That boy is likely alive and I intend to bring him home. I don’t need you getting under my feet.” 

 

“Who’s at the door?” Jo asked. 

 

Bobby turned to tell her to go back to the kitchen, but Cole had already caught her eye. “I’m just an old friend, Mrs. Singer. I’m passing through town and I thought I’d stop to say a word or two.” 

 

“Well, if you’re an old friend of Bobby’s, you must come in and have breakfast with us.” 

 

“Mr. Trenton is in a hurry,” Bobby said quickly. 

 

“Well, I’m never not in such a hurry I can’t take a break for a fine, home-cooked breakfast.” 

 

“Come right on in. There’s plenty of room at the table.” 

 

Bobby had no choice but to step back and allow the younger man to enter. He’d long ago lost track of the boy--though he wasn’t a boy any longer. Hadn’t been for  _ decades _ . What business did he have with the Winchester? And who did he think he was to show up at Bobby’s door and demand to know his intentions? What if Bobby had taken the job? What if he’d already started out on the trail? What would he have done? 

 

“This is quite a lovely home, ma’am,” he said as they passed through the sitting room to the kitchen. 

 

“Thank you. We like it fine. Have a seat, please. How do you like your coffee?” 

 

“Hot and black.” 

Cole sat in Bobby’s seat, giving Bobby no choice but to pull the spare chair from the corner of the room. Ever the lovely hostess, Jo poured him the first cup of coffee from the freshly brewed pot and presented it to him with a small smile. Bobby had to bite down to stop an irritated frown from forming. 

 

“I heard you talking about the Winchester.” 

 

“Jo.” Bobby’s voice held more than a hint of warning. 

 

Cole ignored him. “Yes, ma’am, I was. I’ve been on their trail for quite awhile now.” 

 

“On their trail? Are you a lawman?” 

 

“I work for the Pinkerton National Detective Agency, ma’am. We’ve been hired by Mr. Bell of the Wells Fargo Company to find the Winchester gang and bring them to justice.” 

 

“And have you come to ask my husband for help?” 

 

Bobby felt a curious tightening in his chest as he waited for his son’s response. 

 

“I’ve come to get his opinion on a few things. As I’m sure you’re aware, ma’am, nobody knows more about find his man than your husband does.” 

 

“Well, I’ll leave the two of you to your conversation then. Just pretend I’m not even here. I won’t interrupt anymore.”  She returned to the stove, turning her back to them as she tended to the coals. 

 

“What makes you think the boy is still alive?” 

 

“Because they took him for a reason. They’re trying to find somebody who -can read Chinese.” 

 

“Can he?” 

 

“He can. According to reports, well enough that they’ll probably keep him alive for awhile. If he doesn’t irritate them or attract any attention. We can retrieve him, but it wouldn’t be a good idea to wait until the spring.” 

 

“Why do they need somebody who can read Chinese?” 

 

“We believe they’ve come into the possession of a very...interesting scroll. It’s said to have certain powers, but it’s written in a certain dialect that isn’t very common. It’s not easy to find somebody who can actually read it.” 

 

“What can this scroll do?” 

 

“It depends on who tells the story. It’s been said to have the key to unlimited youth, power, treasure.” Cole shrugged. “It’s all trash, but those two seem to have found it. And they apparently believe in the legend.” 

 

“How are you ever going to find them?” 

 

“We’ve hired trackers. Even a few old-timers from your day. The Winchester are fast, and sometimes clever, but they’re just boys. We’ve had scouts scouring the Wyoming and Utah territories for the past six weeks.” 

 

“So you know where they are?” 

 

“We’ve had reliable reports on the location of their hide-out.  I’m heading out tomorrow morning.” 

 

“Where’s the hide-out?” 

 

“They’re in Utah, holed up in the Uinta Mountains.” 

 

Bobby frowned. The range wasn’t easy to reach this time of the year, and the peaks got as high as ten thousand feet. He’d passed through the range a few times.  The air was cold and brittle. 

 

“ _ Where  _ in the Uinta mountains?” 

 

“What does it matter to you?” 

 

“Maybe I’ve been there.” 

 

Cole sipped from his coffee, studying his father over the rim of the mug. He knew the difference between fact and fiction. Knew that the character of Bobby Singer had very little to do with the man. But the stories did get one thing right. That sonofabitch was well-traveled. 

 

“You ever spend any time with the Saints?” 

 

“Until Brother Brigham had me run out.” 

 

“You ever here of a fella called Thomas Rhodes?” 

 

The name of that old cheat and rascal made Bobby laugh at the very mention. “Yeah, I heard of him.” 

 

“He’s said to have settled in a valley up in the Uintas.” 

 

“I’ve been there.  But I doubt the Winchester have settled in with the Saints--they wouldn’t like to get that cozy. They’ve probably gone much higher in the range” 

 

“Well, pack light. We got a long ride ahead of us.” 

 

“You’re interested in my help now?” 

 

“You can come with me or you can draw me a map. But I ain’t been there and I don’t have much time to lose.” 

 

“Now, look, I already told Joe--” 

 

“I don’t care what you told Joe. This is Pinkerton business and we’re going to handle it. Don’t worry, I’ll pay you well for your time, and I promise to deliver you home, safe and sound.” The last was meant for Jo, who still stood at the stone, spine rimrod straight. 

 

“I reckon you’d like a few extra biscuits,” she said, breathy. Just the day before she’d argued that he should go, but now that he was leaving, she realized she’d been wrong. Let this young man ride off and do his job, but Bobby belonged there with her. But now it was too late to offer a protest or even defend Bobby’s own desires to stay where he belonged. 

 

“I reckon that’s a good idea, ma’am.” 

 

Jo measured the ingredients for another batch and tried to swallow the tears threatening to spill from her eyes. 

 

#

 

The storm ended by mid-morning. Cas threw open the door and allowed the evening’s stale air to escape, welcoming him in the clean, crisp winter breeze. They had bacon and coffee again, and biscuits made with thick gravy. Kevin didn’t understand why they were eating again so soon, but he wasn’t inclined to question it. Maybe that was how they ate when they weren’t running low on supplies. Or maybe Dean preferred at least two meals a day. Either way, Sam was a good cook, and Kevin greatly enjoyed the gravy. 

 

Dean and Cas broke a path out to the horses, who had survived the night with eyes on their eyelashes and in their nostrils. They melted snow in tin pails over the fire and offered them the warm water with their breakfast. Kevin followed, his own small bucket in hand, struggling through the drifting snow. The sky was a mellow blue, and it was hard to believe that same sky was black as death only the afternoon before. 

 

Kevin was still feeding Darwin and Dean returned to the boxcar. Cas moved to his side, sidling up without a word and scaring the hell out of the younger man. 

 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He rested a hand on Darwin’s neck, his fingers stroking over the thick, winter fur. “I suppose this whole experience has been very...startling.” 

 

“You could say that.” 

 

“I hope it hasn’t been too uncomfortable.” 

 

“No. It’s been…” Kevin didn’t know how to finish his sentence. “Fine.” 

 

“I apologize, but you understand, your particular skills are not easily...obtained.” 

 

“How did you know I’d be on that train?” 

 

Cas’s smile was small--very nearly not a smile at all. “Can you read Chinese? And answer true, I have far more patience than Dean.” 

 

“Yes, though I’m not fluent.” 

 

“I expected you would be.” 

 

“Why? Because of the way I look? My mother is half-Chinese, but my father is white, and trust me, neither of them are familiar with any language besides English.” Kevin paused to brush some snow from Darwin’s mane. “Where did the parchment come from? I  _ do _ need to know. I need to know everything you can tell me. There are many different dialects, depending on the region and when it was written.” 

 

“It’s not from China. It was probably written in California. Maybe Nevada. About fifty years ago.” 

 

“Well...what is it?” 

 

“It’s a treasure map. At least, we’re pretty sure it is.” 

 

“Pretty sure?” 

 

Cas lifted his shoulder. “I don’t read Chinese any better than they do. But there’s a legend about it, and if that legend is accurate...well, let’s just say, this is a very fine treasure.”  He patted the mule and took a step back.  “Feel free to take your time. I’m ready to hunker in for the winter, and I’d rather be right in the spring than wrong in January, understand. Better for my health. Better for your health, too, understand me?”

 

He nodded quickly. Yes, sir, he understood completely. 

 

“I’ll give you a moment to gather your thoughts.” He walked a few feet and paused to watch the horses, who appeared to be sleeping in a huddled mass--as huddled as horses could get, anyway. “Look at them horses. Sugar looks real comfortable, doesn’t he?” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

“Yes, sir, he does. And I’d hate it if anything disrupted his comfort, like some  mule floundering in the snow. braying its head off, calling all the wolves down.” 

 

“I’ll make sure the rope is good and tight.” 

 

Cas’s smile was brief, but pleased. “You do that, kid.” 

 

It never occurred to Kevin that he might be on the  _ back _ of the mule while it floundered in the snow. Absolutely not. He planned to survive the winter, and he planned to produce  _ something _ for the three men who now were his only means of survival, and when they rode out for their treasure, he’d take Darwin and he’d find his way back to civilization. He was going to play it smart. 

 

The sun reflected hard on the packed snow and Kevin had to avert his eyes to the ground, the donkey’s hooves blinking in and out of focus as he tried to clear his vision. The light was lower in Boston, and he much preferred the golden-hued shadows of a library, anyway. He’d have to do most of his reading outside, where the light was good, but that would mean spending hours in the cold. 

 

But the boxcar had very little in natural light, and he doubted they would be agreeable to leaving the door open all day. On sunny days, he may have to sit in the barn with Darwin and try to read it through the chattering of his teeth. 

 

It was far from what he was used to, but not from what he was  _ willing _ to do. He wanted to know what the scroll said. More than that, though, he wanted the challenge. He always did well under the pressure of a deadline, of high expectations--or sometimes even low expectations.  He was excited to get started. If nothing else, it would break up the monotony of his days. 

 

###

 

“Why’d you have to go and buy him a mule?” Dean asked. “He’s probably going to jump on the back of that mule and ride off.” 

 

“He’s not going to ride off anywhere. He knows how foolish that is. Besides, he wants to help us,” Cas said. 

 

“Does he?” 

 

“Of course. He’s an educated man. He’ll always take the chance to prove it.” 

 

“Still, what do you think he’s going to do with a mule?” 

 

“He’ll need it in the spring,” Sam said from behind him. 

 

Dean looked over his shoulder. “You know we can’t let him leave. Not now.”

 

Sam wasn’t perturbed by Dean’s announcement.  “I never said he’d need it to ride home. But we may need his help when it’s time to ride out.” 

 

Dean liked that idea even less than letting Kevin go home, judging from the look on his face. “This is a three-man outfit.” 

 

“And you’re out-voted, two to one.”: 

 

“Out-voted? I wasn’t even  _ consulted _ . You two ride off like idiots  _ after _ the snow has started to fly and bring back some kid--” 

 

“Do you know anybody else who can read Chinese?” Cas inquired. 

 

“No,” Dean admitted. 

 

“And we would have consulted you, but you weren’t here,” Sam added. “Anyway, the kid doesn’t even know where he is. Even if he left here and went directly to the nearest sheriff, he’s not going to be able to lead anybody back here.” 

 

“You don’t  _ know _ that,” Dean insisted. “He’s smart, right? What if he’s got a map in his head and knows exactly where he’s at?” 

 

“You are being paranoid.” 

 

“My paranoia has kept you alive through the years,” Dean countered. “And don’t you forget it.” 

 

“What did you tell me him?” Sam asked Cas. 

 

“It’s a treasure map.” Cas looked over his shoulder. “They were talking about a big winter in Rhodes Valley. How are the supplies?” 

 

“Good. We’re not going to be reduced to eating each other.” 

 

Kevin pet Darwin on the nose, rubbing the fuzzy fur between his eyes before turning back to the house. Sam took a deep breath as he watched the younger man approach. He liked the looks of Kevin--and it was only a matter of time before Dean or Cas caught on--and he’d considered bunking down with him more than once. Especially as the nights got colder and longer. And it’d only get worse before it got better. 

 

Sam had never had a woman in his life--besides the few years he had a mother. A whore named Priscilla who took him in after Sam’s mother--a whore herself--disappeared. Nobody knew if she run off or if she had an accident or got killed.  Priscilla was also raising Dean, who’d been ten at the time, already a strapping boy and growing rapidly.  But boys had their uses, too, in a whore house, and as long as they earned their keep, Priscilla kept them fed and warm and clothed.  

 

By the time Dean was sixteen and Sam was ten, they were on their own. Cheyenne was a busy town, and everybody had a job to do. Dean was old enough to beat the cowboys and soldiers at cards, hustling them with a friendly grin, and Sam lurked in the alleys and stables, mostly looking for honest work. Dean didn’t care how Sam got the money as long as he brought something home, and Sam could usually find work in the stables. But if not, he’d wait for the cowboys who fell out of one saloon, only to stumble into another, and lift what was left of their wages before they could drink it all away. 

 

One night, Dean cheated the wrong man. He’d only survived the encounter because John Hardin’s gun had misfired. Dean had taken advantage of the split second of surprise, punched Hardin with enough force to knock him out, and fled with Sam. After that, they didn’t have much use for towns. And when Sam got old enough for whorehouses, he had no interest. He never met a woman who wasn’t a whore, and doubted he ever would. When Cas fell in with them and took up with Dean, Sam hadn’t been surprised, hadn’t even been annoyed by the interloper in their lives. Cas was a good guy--the only friend either of them had ever had--and they lived a hard, lonely life. Dean deserved to have what happiness he could find. 

 

Dean caught him staring at Kevin and snickered. “Just take him if you want him. Me and Cas can go for a walk if it’s privacy, you want.” 

 

Sam knew that was an option, of course. But not every encounter in a whorehouse came about because of mutual agreement. Sometimes a cowboy showed up with no money but still wanted a poke. Normally, Priscilla could turn the cowboy out, but sometimes they would overpower her, and take what they couldn’t pay for. Priscilla had been a bright woman with a loud laugh, but she’d stop laughing for days, sometimes even weeks, after such encounters. 

 

“It’s none of your concern, Dean,” Sam said harshly. More harshly than he ever spoke to his brother. Dean and Cas exTranged a look before Dean said, “That’s fine, Sammy.” 

 

Kevin looked so small against the snow. After their time together, he knew a little of Kevin’s life. He knew Kevin had been born and raised in Boston, a city much larger than the cowtown of Abilene. He didn’t have a wife or a fiance. In fact, it seemed that he had as much experience with women as Sam did, though Kevin’s isolation was entirely self-imposed.  He preferred studying languages to socializing, and he’d admitted his mother had been worried because he wasn’t even considering marriage. He also knew Kevin had pretty eyes and nice teeth and the best part of their ride up to the ridge had been the way Kevin wrapped himself around Sam’s back. 

 

Kevin was wet and covered in snow by the time he made it to the door. Sam held his hand out and Kevin took it, allowing himself to be pulled into the boxcar. 

 

“I’d like to look at the parchment again,” he said several minutes later when his feet were dry and his teeth had stopped chattering. 

 

“Of course,” Cas said. “I’ll get it.” 

 

Kevin sat at the door, his feet dangling over the edge, about as far from Dean as he could get. Dean obviously made the younger man uncomfortable. Sam wanted to tell him that he really had nothing to worry about, but it never hurt to step lightly around Dean, and Sam supposed it was better for Kevin to be cautious. 

 

“Do you have paper and a pen?” Kevin asked as Cas unrolled the scroll for him. 

 

“Yes, though we don’t have much paper, and I reckon the ink is frozen at this point,” Cas warned. 

They could thaw the ink over the fire, but unless Cas had squirreled away an extra supply he didn’t know about, they had very little to spare.

 

He reached for it and Cas tensed. So did Dean and Sam. He looked confused at their reaction, but kept his hand out expectantly. 

 

“This is not the first scroll I’ve ever handled,” Kevin said evenly. “No harm will it befall it, I promise.” 

 

Sam seemed to relax at Kevin’s words, but Dean still looked worried, and Cas only let it go when Sam cleared his throat. Kevin leaned against the door frame more comfortable and squinted at the symbols. Cas and Dean watched for a minute, but soon lost interest in him and started to make eyes at each other.  It only took a couple of seconds of that before Dean jumped out of the boxcar and Cas quickly followed. 

 

Sam sighed, stretching out against the opposite side of the doorframe, his boots nearly nudging Kevin’s leg. He’d liked Cas almost from the beginning, though he’d been slightly slower than Dean to trust the stranger who spoke with a strange accent and laughed at strange things. They met him when they robbed the same train. He and Dean had put rocks on the tracks and brought it to a screeching halt. At the time, Cas had been in the midst of pocketing all the wallets and billfolds in the dining car. He hadn’t boarded the train with the intention of robbing everybody, he explained later, be was bored and broke and it seemed like a good idea. 

 

Unbeknownst to the three of them, there were two Pinkertons on board. Had Dean and Sam not stopped the train and distracted them, Cas would have certainly hung, if they didn’t shoot him sooner. And if Cas hadn’t paused in his retreat to turn and shoot the two armed men as they took aim and Dean and Sam, the legend of the Winchester Brothers would have been born that day. 

 

Cas had reloaded his rifle and brought it right back to his shoulder, as though saving the brothers had been an accident. They kept their revolvers trained on him and nobody moved or spoke for several beats before Cas smiled and said, “Friends?” 

 

Sam still didn’t know why Dean had spared the stranger’s life that day. Maybe he felt indebted. Or maybe he just liked the look of Cas’s smile. Either way, instead of shooting that grin off his face, Dean had very reasonably answered, “We will be if you lower your piece.” 

 

Cas rode with them that day and he never fell out. When Sam realized Cas had no intention of leaving, he feared for his life. Dean wasn’t a big fan of people. And he didn’t like anybody knowing his business. It seemed having Sam with him day in and day out wore on his nerves enough--Sam wasn’t so sure Dean could withstand the regular company of two men. 

 

But something about Cas had fixed something in Dean. He mellowed, his temper becoming less stormy. It easier pulling big jobs with a third man, too, and Cas was cagey. He knew things Sam and Dean never learned and he was a good teacher. His fears about Dean were unfounded, and strangely enough, it wasn’t hard to adjust to the fact that they were bedding down together. The only part about it that caused him any hardship was the ever-present reminder that he bedded down alone at night, always had and likely always would. 

 

He still bedded down alone, but maybe he wouldn’t have to for much longer. 


	4. Chapter 4

The journey to Rhodes Valley was a long one, but not terribly arduous. It would have been easier to travel over Parley’s Pass and through the mining town of Parley’s Park in the spring. Every time a snow storm blew through, Bobby and Cole were forced to stop and make camp in whatever shelter they could find, and they had to be careful not to push their horses too hard. There wasn’t much food, even less running water, and Bobby dreamed about his wife and his bed every night. Far from comforting him, the dreams brought an edge to his waking hours, reminding him every second of every day that he was a foolish old man. 

 

He should have drawn the boy a map and stayed with Jo. 

 

By the time they reached the mining town, a dozen old injuries were flaring up in the cold, and his hands were so stiff he could barely straighten his fingers. He clenched his reins tight and he didn’t complain, but there was a saloon in Parley’s Park with a room or two for rent, and Bobby would have liked nothing more than to pay for one of those rooms and settle in until the spring thaw set in. 

 

They knew the Winchesters in the mining camp. Everybody they asked showed a moment of recognition on their faces, but nobody was willing to give them any actual information. Had the Winchesters passed through in the past month? Did they have another boy with them? Did anybody how far up they made their camp? Every question was meant with a dumb shake of the head, a muttered refusal. Even cash couldn’t prompt them to be more gregarious. Cole wasn’t using his own money, and so he was generous with his offers, but no amount of generosity could buy them information. 

 

Cole wasn’t concerned by their stoicism. When they shook their heads, he shrugged and returned the gold to his pocket, leaving the miners to their silence. A vicious blizzard from the northwest held them in Parley’s Park for three days, but Cole took a philosophic view of the holdup, calmly taking the opportunity to sleep, eat salted pork belly, and let his horse rest. His confidence that they would find the Winchesters--and the boy--never wavered. 

 

Rhodes Valley was another twenty five miles east of the silver mines.  ferson Brown had marked a trail through a deep canyon that led from the camp to the north end of Rhodes Valley, and that was the path Cole chose. Sporadic snow storms slowed them--the first day they managed to travel eight miles, but the three days after that, they couldn’t make it more than four miles before the driving snow and howling wind forced them to stop and find shelter. 

 

By the fifth day, Cole was visibly irritated. But they managed to get out of the canyon and ride through the tiny settlement of Peoa before the sun set. One week after they left Parley’s Park, they finally reached the Rhodes Valley settlement. Bobby was frozen solid and Cole was surly. They both expected a warm welcome from the Mormon settlement, and they received one, until Cole brought up the name of Winchester. 

 

It wasn’t uncommon for outlaws to find sanctuary in a small settlement in California or the Dakotas or even Arizona. If they lived quietly and kept their heads down, they would become part of the community. That could lead to remarkably hostile confrontations with local law enforcement, who might opt to protect their neighbor from a bounty hunter. But Bobby had never known the Mormons to offer the same protection. 

 

Not unless they were protecting their own. Then they were as tight-lipped and uncooperative as a people could get. Bobby had seen it happen before, but none of  Cole’s reports had stated the obvious, and so he didn’t expect the cold reception they received. 

 

“We never heard the name before. Sorry to tell you, sir, but not too many people pass through this way.” 

 

“We were told they’re to the east, up through this canyon.” 

 

“The Indian reservation is on the other side of these mountains.” The man had introduced himself as Bob Hoyt and he didn’t wear a star, but he was clearly the man in charge. Nobody else had emerged from their squat cabins to greet them. A few dogs stood on alert, but nobody else concerned themselves with their arrival late one frigid morning.  “They tend to keep to themselves but they don’t like it when we get too close.” 

 

“What about Castiel Novak?” 

 

The man’s eyes turned cold and his horse pawed at the ground, agitated by the sudden shift in his rider. 

 

“I suggest you two turn back around and get to Parley’s Park before the next storm rolls through. It’s been real unpredictable this year.” 

 

“No, sir, we’ve got a job to do and I expect we should continue on east.”

 

“Then I suggest you head on before it gets dark.” 

 

Cole looked affronted, but Bobby turned his horse to the east and gave the younger man no choice but to follow him. “He’s right. We should stop wasting time.” 

 

“I know they’ve passed through here. They likely get a good number of their supplies here.” 

 

“Yes, well, that means they’ve likely got friends here. They’re likely converts.” 

 

“There’s no mention of that in any of the reports.” 

 

“They likely didn’t know to follow up on that detail. I hope you weren’t counting on a few friendly words to find them.” 

 

“No,” Cole said gruffly. “I’ve got good intelligence.” 

 

“That remains to be seen.” 

 

Bobby looked over his shoulder at the settlement as they neared the mouth of the canyon. Maybe Bob Hoyt was right. Maybe they ought to turn around and ride west once again. If Cole was correct about their reason for taking the boy, he’d likely survive until spring. The two of them likely  _ wouldn’t _ if they didn’t hit upon an amazing piece of luck. It would have been good to replenish their supplies before leaving Rhodes Valley.   

 

“What’s the date?” Bobby asked, refocusing his attention on the unbroken snow ahead of them. 

 

“First of November. Why?” 

 

“Wanted to mark it, that’s all.” 

#

 

Kevin stared at the scroll for three days, praying for a miracle the entire time. He  _ knew _ he could do it. He’d translated Chinese before, and though he wasn’t fluent, he wasn’t ignorant, either. But now he knew nothing. He could read nothing. All of his previous study had fled his memory, and the time he spent translating felt so much like a dream that by the third day, he believed he  _ had _ dreamed it and had never studied Chinese in his life. 

 

The three men kept their distance from him, not yet impatient enough to ask questions. Dean and Cas disappeared while the sun held strong, taking their rifles to search for game. Once, Kevin caught Sam rolling his eyes as they set out. Sam himself never, ever left the hideout, except to tend to the horses. He sat with Kevin and braided strips of rawhide into rope, or sorted and counted his munitions, or sharpened his knives--he had more blades than he had guns and he had a lot of guns--or sometimes he just watched Kevin from under eyes half-closed by the glare of the sun. 

 

The only break Kevin took during the short day was to see to Darwin. Sam usually went with him, and it always startled Kevin when they stepped into the snow and suddenly Sam appeared the size of a sapling. In the boxcar, he walked with his shoulders hunched over, leaning down to avoid hitting his head, but when he had the room to stretch, he gained an easy four inches. Kevin figured he had to be six inches over six feet, because he himself was five and a half feet, and Sam easily had a foot on him. 

 

He was, without exception, the tallest men Kevin had ever met. But he wasn’t broad. His shoulders and hips were lean, hewed by a hard life and the cold northern wind. His hair was long, and his beard had grown an inch or two. He looked like a giant straight from a child’s storybook. But he was graceful, too. He walked through the ice-crusted snow without making a sound, as though he stepped in the lightest powder. He could slip back into the shadows and avoid the dancing light from the fire, and Kevin had the feeling that there wasn’t a tracker alive who could hunt this man down. 

 

Kevin was starting to grow a thin beard himself. He envied Sam and Dean, whose beards were already long enough to protect their necks from the cold. Cas, rather inexplicably, insisted on shaving once a week, and he even could grow a great beard within only a few days. But Kevin’s whiskers came in patches, slowly, without any order. He had tufts on his cheeks that only served to make his skin itch and did nothing to keep him warm. 

 

Bitter cold was his constant companion. He could not get warm, no matter how close he moved to the fire, no matter how much coffee he sipped, or how small he made himself at night, knees tucked up to his chest. Somehow, it had settled in his bones and there it remained, impervious to any of his attempts to warm himself. The blanket Sam had given him did very little in the night, and most of the time, he shivered so hard he kept himself awake. 

 

His other constant companion was a throbbing headache, just behind his eyes. It felt like the wind had reached into his nose and clawed bits and pieces of his brain out of his head, leaving a terrible, hollow ache behind. The only relief he ever had was when he inhaled the steam from his coffee, though that was a mixed blessing. It thawed the hair in his nostrils and made his nose drip something terrible. 

 

He hoped the pain would fade as he became more accustomed to the low temperatures and the dry air, but after another week, it only intensified. Another big storm hit, forcing them to close the door tight, and then they had to close the opening in the roof because the snow fell straight down and nearly put out the fire. The temperature dropped quickly after that as they had to rebuild the fire, and the air got smokey. Kevin couldn’t find a place to get warm, couldn’t find a position that was remotely comfortable, and simply gave up, passing out near the door with only the thin blanket wrapped around him. 

 

When he woke up again, everything was pitch black. At first he thought the fire had gone out, but then he heard the familiar hiss and sizzle of bacon and the snap and crackle of wood burning. It was morning and there was a fire, but he couldn’t see anything, and when he tried to open his mouth, it felt like his lips were frozen--or glued--together. He sat up quickly--too quickly for his sore head. The world tilted sharply and he fell back to his side in an undignified heap. 

 

“Kevin, what’s wrong?” 

 

“I...I don’t know,” he rasped, each word tearing through his throat. 

 

“He’s sick,” Cas said flatly.  “You best heat up some water to wash his face.” 

 

“Is it...phlegm?” Kevin asked, horrified. 

 

“Yes. Now, don’t go touching it. You’ll just irritate your eyes. Lay down.” 

 

Cas’s accent seemed even thicker than usual. It came and went, at its thickest when he was annoyed or...amorous. Kevin had heard him in the dead of the night, whispering in Dean’s ear, sometimes in English, sometimes in Russian. Kevin wondered if Dean understood any of it at all--even the English words were obscured behind his mother tongue. 

 

Moment later, a strong arm curled around his chest, lifting him bodily from the cold floor, and he found himself leaning against a solid wall of muscle. Sam’s chest, he assumed. At the first touch of the hot rag against his face, he whimpered. His chapped cheeks stung but the heat felt so damned good, he couldn’t help but turn his face upwards, towards Sam’s gentle touch. 

 

He delicately wiped the hardened crust from Kevin’s eyes. Sometimes he had to hold the rag in place until the crust softened enough to be wiped away without causing him more discomfort, but he did so patiently. It took so long to completely clean his face that by the time Sam was done and he could open his eyes again, all he wanted to do was go back to sleep. Cradled against Sam’s chest, he was warm and comfortable for the first time in what felt like years. 

 

“I’m so tired,” he muttered, trying to explain why his eyes were still closed and why he wasn’t moving. 

 

“That’s fine,” Sam said softly. “Go to sleep.” 

 

Kevin did. 

 

When he woke again, he was still in Sam’s arms, and something hot was pressed to his lips. “Open up.” He felt the words rumble through Sam’s chest. “It’s tea.” 

 

_ Tea _ ? That was all Kevin needed to hear. He had no idea what kind of tea, though. He couldn’t place the combination of sweet and bitter, or locate the scent in his memory. But he drank it down thankfully, and for a few blissful seconds, he actually felt better. Clearheaded enough to realize that Sam was cradling him in the crook of one arm, very much like a child, and holding the tea with his other hand. 

 

“Where did it come from?” He asked thickly. 

 

“Cas. He said it would help. Is it?” 

 

“I think so.” 

 

“Go back to sleep. You need to sleep to get better.” 

 

But Kevin had already slipped back into the void. 

 

When he woke up again, he was  _ on fire.  _ Everything burned everywhere, and he was sure if he didn’t cool down soon, he would die.  _ Snow. There’s snow. I need the snow _ . That was the only thought in his head as he struggled to free himself from his blanket and the strong arms pinning him in place. 

 

“Le’me...go,” Kevin muttered, twisting with all of his strength. Which wasn’t very much at all, and Sam had no trouble subduing him. “I’m hot.” 

 

“I know. It’s a fever.” A wet rag moved across his brow and cheek, wiping away the beads of perspiration. 

 

“I’m dying.” 

 

“You’re not dying.” That was the Russian. Kevin couldn’t remember his name at that moment, only that he wasn’t Sam. “You merely have a fever. Here.” 

 

More tea. This time, it didn’t make him feel better, but it did wet the back of his dry throat and the heat broke up the balls of phlegm stuck in his sinuses. He wanted to succumb to sleep again, but he couldn’t. He was too hot and Sam’s heart thundered against his ear, and how long had he slept? Did Sam hold him the entire time? Why would he do that? 

 

The question got caught in a loop around his feverish brain. Again and again-- _ why would he do that why would he do that why would he _ \--and again. He struggled a few more times to sit up, wanting to give voice to his question and demand an explanation for why he felt like he was going to die. But Sam barely needed to flex to subdue him, and the fever licked at the corners of his mind until the heat consumed him and he fell into the rolling, riotous colors of fever dream. 

 

He was surrounded by trees, but instead of thin, white aspens, they were robust, dark oaks. Everything was green and there were so many leafs, he didn’t even feel the heat of the sun. He walked through the flickering shadows, following the sound of running water, though no matter how much he walked, he couldn’t find the river. Sometimes he turned to his left or veered to his right, when the sound of the water Tranged, but he walked on and on, unable to reach his goal. 

 

He didn’t mind, though. The river, no matter where it was, carried with it a bright tune, and the wind whispered its accompaniment through the leaves. There were no birds, no mules braying, or wolves howling. Only the water and the air and the earth below him and the sky above him. The trees were thick, but every time he looked up, he saw a new shade of blue. 

 

After walking for some time, he met a man sitting next to the trail. After he didn’t recognize the stranger, but gradually the face swam into focus, and he realized it was his old professor and mentor, Professor Shirley. 

 

“Sir, where are we?” 

 

“The river.” 

 

Kevin looked around. “I can hear it but I can’t see it. Where is it?” 

 

“You’re in it.” 

 

He looked down and the earth became sand. The trees began to sway and wave their branches to the rhythm of the currents, and his heart raced with fear. 

 

“We’ll drown! We must get out of here.” 

 

“Why? This is where I belong.” 

 

“It’s not where I belong,” Kevin protested. “I don’t know how to swim and the air is almost gone.” 

 

“You have air, Kevin, but you can come and go as you like. Leave when you please.” 

 

“How will I find the words if I’m stuck under water?” Kevin reasoned. 

 

“What words are you searching for? These words?” Professor Shirley produced the scroll and unrolled it with a flick of his wrist. It was much longer now, and it seemed to unroll for miles. “They’re right here.” 

 

And they were. All of them. Every single thing he needed to see, know, and understand was suddenly lying in front of him. 

 

“Can I take these?” 

 

“No.” 

 

“Can I eat them?” 

 

“If you must have them inside of you.” 

 

“I need to know them.” 

 

Professor Shirley handed the scroll over and Kevin stuffed it into his mouth, pushing it down his throat inch by inch, until it bulged beneath his chin, but he kept going. He didn’t stop until it was all safely tucked away, hidden inside of his stomach. He felt his body break it down and absorb it, the ink flowing into his blood, the poetry nourishing his cells. 

 

“I’ll understand now,” Kevin said confidently. 

 

“You understand nothing,” his mentor said with a sneer Kevin was sure he’d never seen before. “You’re a fool. Wake up, boy. Go on. Wake up.” 

 

Kevin opened his eyes. 

 

His skin wasn’t too hot. The air wasn’t too cold. The pain in his head had faded to a dull, distant ache, but his stomach was churning. 

 

“Air,” he choked out, hoping Sam would understand because he could add nothing more to his demand. 

 

By some miracle, Sam did understand, and he lost no time in carrying Kevin to the sliding door and yanking it open. The harsh sunlight shocked and blinded Kevin, but it didn’t stop him from leaning as far away from Sam as possible and emptying the contents of his stomach--which was nothing more than tea and snot. He puked until there was nothing else to choke out, but he couldn’t stop heaving, as though his body wasn’t going to stop until all the disease was completely expelled. 

 

Sam’s hand on the back of his neck was oddly comforting. 

 

As soon as his stomach was empty, it cramped again. He whimpered, wondering what was left to force up, but when it happened again he recognized it as a hunger pang. It was quickly followed by another. How he could be hungry after what he just experienced was a mystery to him, but there was no denying it. 

 

“I need food.” Kevin was beyond making requests. All he could do was speak plainly and hope for the best. 

 

“We thought you might be hungry. There’s rabbit.” 

 

Dean and Cas had set dozens of traps, hoping to catch one or two. They brought back five while Kevin slept, which meant he had a whole rabbit to himself. Sam wouldn’t let him eat it, though. Not right away. He’d made a broth--so apparently he had not been holding Kevin for the duration--and he would only give him a spoonful at a time. 

 

“You have to eat it slowly. Or you’ll make yourself sick.” 

 

Kevin was already sick, and with every painfully slow swallow of broth, he felt worse, not better. Didn’t Sam understand he was  _ starving? _ But the broth was better than nothing. 

 

“I need to see the scroll,” Kevin said, when he could think of something other than the ache in his stomach. 

 

“After you’ve rested.” 

 

He’d rested more than enough. He didn’t want to rest. He wanted to read the scroll while the words were still there, inside of him. He remembered the dream perfectly, every detail and every word stayed with him. He couldn’t explain it and he didn’t understand it, but he needed to see if his feeling was right. He needed to see if he could read the scroll now. 

 

“There will be plenty of time to read it tomorrow,” Sam added. “Cas said it’s not going to snow again for awhile.” 

 

“How does he know?” 

 

Sam shrugged. “He just does.” 

 

“Isn’t he ever wrong?” 

 

“Not often. Do you want more broth?” 

 

Kevin shook his head. “I feel...full. I think. You’re right. I need more rest.” It hit him like a brick to the head. His eyes were heavy, and it felt so good to let them fall shut. 

 

“Come here.” Sam guided Kevin to his pallet, which was covered in hides and was much softer than the floor. He covered Kevin in a blanket made from a bearskin, and Kevin felt warm and full and  _ fine _ . 

 

It didn’t occur to him until he was feeling strong enough to walk under his own power that Sam had given him his bed. 


	5. Chapter 5

Kevin slowly gained his strength back under Sam’s watchful eye, eating a little bit more and staying awake longer day by day until he almost felt normal.  After another day, he was strong enough to sit up. He asked for the paper and inkwell and used both sparingly, writing with a tight, cramped hand, though the words were clear and he didn’t have a single scratch out. He only committed a word to the ink when he was certain he had it right. 

 

Cas checked his work every night, after Kevin moved to the fire with the bearskin blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He’d tried to relinquish it, and the bed, back to Sam, but Sam would not hear of it. He steadfastly refused to even take one of the rabbit furs from the pallet. He took Kevin’s old blanket and slept sitting up beside the fire, and when Kevin questioned him, he quietly insisted he’d bedded down in worse places. Kevin didn’t need to sleep on the pile of furs, but he loved the blanket, and he rarely shrugged it off. 

 

He stroked his fingers over the thick fur as he watched Cas read over the translation, coughing occasionally to clear the tickle that still lingered in the back of his throat. Dean and Sam had gone on a mysterious errand, neither one announcing their destination or when they would be back. Cas probably knew, but he didn’t give any indication that he expected their return that night. Kevin wanted to ask. He missed Sam. But if he asked about Sam, Cas might want to know why he was so curious about it, and Kevin didn’t want to admit the truth. He also didn’t want to admit that he couldn’t say why he missed Sam, only that it was strange to look up and not see the familiar brown eyes or hear his surprisingly soft voice asking if Kevin was okay, if he needed anything. 

 

“You are doing well,” Cas said without looking up. 

 

“Thank you.” 

 

“You’re a very learned man. Too bad you’re stupid as that mule. Darwin, he calls it.” He switched from English to Russian, but it all flowed easily to Kevin’s ears, and he answered in Cas’s mother tongue. 

 

“Darwin is a very intelligent mule.” 

 

Cas looked up sharply. “You understand me?” 

 

“Yes, and I’m teaching Darwin a few words every day. Even a mule could learn it. But perhaps I misunderstood you?” 

 

“You didn’t misunderstand me. As you’ve just said yourself, even a mule can learn Russian.” 

 

“If I’m so unintelligent, why do you keep me here?” Kevin asked sharply. 

 

“As I said, you are a learned man. But you were traveling across this great nation on your own. Nobody has even noticed that you’re missing. Do you know what I find most interesting?” 

 

“What is so interesting?” Kevin had returned to English, though Cas still went on in Russian. 

 

“We’ve been working on this project for a long time. And every other young man assured us somebody  _ would _ miss them. In fact, they got very tedious about it.” Cas idly poked a stick into the embers. “It made Dean nervous.” 

 

Yes, Kevin was sure it made Dean very nervous, indeed. 

 

“People who talk that much, he tends to think they  _ mean  _ what they say, and he starts jumping at shadows.” A downward gust of wind caught the fire and sparks whirled up from the ashes. “But you don’t make him jumpy. Because you don’t believe anybody’s coming. Do you?” 

 

Kevin’s silence was response enough. 

 

“Don’t you have parents?” 

 

“Yes, but they are traveling abroad right now. They left for Europe after I boarded the train.” 

 

“And there’s nobody else?” 

 

“No.” 

 

“Because you are a learned man.” 

 

He sounded so smug with the conclusion that Kevin wanted to punch the smirk off his face. Something of his desire must have been reflected in his eyes. Cas chuckled. 

 

“I touched a nerve. Am I wrong?” 

 

“I chose to focus on college so I could provide for a family.” It sounded hollow. Like he didn’t believe it himself. Cas certainly didn’t. 

 

“You wasted your youth and you were well on your way to wasting the rest of your life, too. And that is why I think you’re stupid as a donkey.”

 

“Darwin is a mule.” 

 

“Yes, but I’ve changed my mind and you are clearly as stupid as a donkey.”

 

“You’re a learned man. Did you waste your life?” 

 

Cas considered his answer for a moment before answering. “I was a highly respected doctor in Moscow. But I failed to dispose of a corpse properly and I was forced to flee.” 

 

“That’s a hanging offense?” 

 

“It is if you’re the reason the poor man was a corpse.” 

 

“Was he your patient?” 

 

Something about the question amused him. He snorted and shook his head. “No. He was a man who worked for me. He did a poor job.” He put his hand up and tilted his head, listening for a moment. “I’m going to take my pipe outside.” 

 

He did that every night since Dean and Sam left on their mysterious errand. He wouldn’t talk about where they went, how long they’d be gone, or when he expected them to return, but he still waited outside every night, until long after the fire had burned down to embers and Kevin succumbed to exhaustion. 

 

When Kevin woke, Sam was there, hunkered down by the fire, throwing a few more pieces of wood on the coals before holding his huge hands over the tiny flames. Kevin felt a stab of guilt. He should have kept the fire built up.

 

“Hello.” Kevin swallowed. He needed coffee, but it didn’t look like Sam had started the process. They must have just returned. He expected Dean and Cas were seeing to the horses--and each other. He sat up and Sam nodded his greeting.  

 

“How are you?” 

 

“Cold. Tired.” 

 

“How long have you been back?” 

 

“I’m not back yet. Come here.” 

 

Kevin stood, moved to Sam’s side, and laid the heavy bearskin blanket over his shoulders.  Sam shivered a little and sank back into the familiar warmth, absorbing the heat that still lingered from Kevin’s body. 

“Are you still cold?” Kevin rubbed his hands on his pants. He felt awkward, like he’d failed Sam somehow. “I can get snow for coffee.” 

 

“No. Told you, I’m not back yet. I don’t need coffee. Come here.”  Sam held the blanket open and Kevin slipped under his arm, curling up to his side as the blanket fell over them. He felt warmer immediately, snug and...safe. He remembered, vaguely, being closer than this when he was sick.  

 

“Why are you here if you’re not back yet?” 

 

“Worried about you,” Sam said gruffly. “It’s cold, Kevin.”

 

Kevin touched the back of his hand to Sam’s brow and gasped at the chill. He felt like he was made of ice.

 

“It’s cold. You need to come.” 

 

“Where?” 

 

“Right now.” 

 

“Kevin, wake up.” 

 

Kevin’s eyes flew open, gasping with surprise at the sight of Cas’s face so near his own. 

 

“We’re riding out.” 

 

“Riding out where?” 

 

“To find the boys.” His accent was thicker than ever, and he seemed twitchy. The sort of twitchy that might lead to improperly disposed of bodies. “You’re coming with me. There’s a pair of saddlebags over in that corner. Fill it with food. Meet me by the horses.” 

 

There was no question of obeying him. Kevin jumped right to his feet and forced his stiff limbs to cooperate, though he couldn’t move very fast as his feet and fingers tingled. He wasn’t sure what to put in the saddlebags, so he just stuffed them full of coffee, bacon, and as many cans of beans as he could fit. He didn’t have the best clothes for a hunting trip through the mountains, but he found a coat among Sam’s things that would keep him protected from the wind and snow.  He also threw the great buffalo blanket over his shoulders. 

 

Cas had his horse saddled and Darwin’s lead rope tied to his saddlehorn. Kevin had never been on the back of a mule, and he’d never ridden any beast without a saddle, but Cas didn’t seem to care.  He silently secured the saddlebags on the mule and then hoisted Kevin to the animal’s back. 

“Hold on tight.” He’d given up on English. He spoke rapidly, distracted. “Do not fall off. I haven’t got time to save you.” 

 

It was still dark, though Kevin could see the hint of sunshine over the top of the mountains. “What’s wrong?” He felt like he was still half-asleep. Wasn’t Sam just there? Why was Cas so worried? 

 

“They should have returned last night,” Cas said flatly. 

 

“They might have been delayed by a storm,” Kevin pointed out. 

 

Cas didn’t answer. Maybe that had occurred to him. Or maybe it didn’t matter. Kevin recognized the look on his face, though. It was the same expression Dean wore when he realized Cas hadn’t come home. Cas had been detained by something important--was it so unlikely to think that the same sort of thing might have happened to Dean and Sam? 

 

Kevin pulled the coat tight around him, his mind lingering on Sam. He kept reliving the details of the dream, which were hardly noteworthy, and yet, so vivid he couldn’t quite believe it wasn’t a memory. 

 

_ It’s cold. You need to come. _

 

Was Sam asking him for help, somehow? Was Cas right to be worried? Were they trapped somewhere, freezing and perhaps injured, waiting for Cas and Kevin to rescue them? Perhaps Cas had experienced his own dream. Maybe Dean had visited him as he dozed and told him he was cold. 

###

 

Riding Darwin was not as comfortable as any other mode of transportation Kevin had ever experienced, but it didn’t take long to get used to it. Kevin tried to track landmarks as they traveled, but very little disrupted the endless white of snow and aspens, and Kevin couldn’t distinguish one mile from another. Every once in awhile, Cas paused to whistle, a short but incredibly loud, sharp sound that echoed off the white faces of the surrounding cliffs.  The sound could be heard for miles, but even so, there was never a response. 

 

Fortunately, the skies stayed clear. Cas traveled steadily as day turned into night, though Kevin was absolutely frozen and so tired he could not keep his eyes open. . He used up all of his concern for Dean, he had very little to spare Kevin. Kevin supposed that was his own fault. He shouldn’t have been so eager to dig into the translation after his fever broke. Especially with Sam gone, he’d been working quickly, and perhaps Cas had enough now. Perhaps Kevin’s life was no longer invaluable to him. 

 

Kevin could do nothing but keep up. He learned how to doze on the mule’s narrow back without falling off, and Cas never released the lead rope from his saddlehorn. The only thing that ever disturbed Kevin’s slumber was Cas’s whistle. Two full days had passed with countless whistles unanswered when they finally heard something that wasn’t an echo. Cas kicked Sugar into a trot and whistled again. Once again, the sound was quickly answered, this time by what sounded like a bird song. Kevin didn’t know which bird, didn’t understand the significance, but Cas swore in his mother tongue. The trail was rocky and steep in places, mostly still covered in snow, or slick with ice. Sugar was sure-footed and Darwin kept up as long as Sugar didn’t go too fast.  So it took another half day of non-stop riding to find their quarry, Cas and Dean communicating via whistles--the patterns growing more and more complicated--the entire way. 

 

Their trail had been steady before, but now Cas veered left and right at random, though with complete confidence. Finally, the whistles stopped, but their journey didn’t. It was dark when they finally reached a small embankment that protected the mouth of a cave from sight. In the spring, that cave would be an underground resevoir, full of the thaw.  Kevin expected Dean to emerge from the mouth, but it was Sam, with sunken eyes and hollow cheeks, who stepped out of the darkness as they approached. 

 

“What happened?” Cas demanded. 

 

“I don’t know.” 

 

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” 

 

“I mean, I don’t….I don’t  _ know _ . The shot came from the treets. There weren’t no tracks to follow. It got him in the arm. I got it out. It doesn’t look bad, the color, but…” Sam’s shrug said it all. He didn’t know, he wasn’t a doctor. Sam shrank in front of him. No more than twenty, he looked even younger in his helpless fear for his brother. 

 

Cas was already pushing past him, his saddlebags hanging over his shoulders. 

 

“What about you? Did they shoot at you?” Kevin asked, sliding down from the back of the mule, wincing as he hit the ground. His thighs, hips, and buttocks ached from the long journey, and he limped with each step, but he didn’t let that slow him down. He needed to be sure Sam wasn’t hurt. 

 

“They may have shot at me but they didn’t hit me. Slow down.” Sam closed the distance between them and took Kevin by the arm, supporting his weight while his legs trembled. “You’re not used to riding.” 

 

“Is he...will Cas be able to help him?” 

 

“I think so. I was more worried about the horse than I was Dean.” He undercut himself with a worried glance over his shoulder. “This cave is safe, and I knew Cas would find us. No sense in ruining the only horse I got.” 

 

Kevin relaxed into Sam’s touch, allowing the other man to support his weight as they approached the cave. Sam nearly bent double to navigate the surprisingly long passage that opened into a spacious enough cavern that Sam could stand upright.  Dean lay quietly beside the fire, Cas sitting next to him, his fingers resting gently on Dean’s throat, his lips moving silently as he counted the beats. 

 

“We’re out of rations.” 

 

“Kevin has food in his bags.” Cas said after a moment. 

 

“I forgot them,” Kevin admitted. 

 

“Sit down.” Sam pushed him down to the cave floor. “I’ll get them.” 

 

“How is he?” Kevin asked. 

 

“Sam’s a good field doctor.” 

 

“Did you know they’d be here?” 

 

“I hoped they wouldn’t be any further south.” 

 

Sam returned with the heavy bags and caught Cas’s last words. “We’re only a day out, aren’t we? How long have you been riding?” 

 

Cas sent a pointed look to Kevin. “Twice that.” 

 

“How could I slow you down?  Darwin is more sure-footed than that big oaf. We kept up with you just fine, we had no choice.”

 

Sam looked troubled. “Was it slick?” 

 

“Very.” 

 

Sam swore under his breath with such ferocity that Kevin realized he likely wasn’t talking about how slick the rocks were. 

 

“It wasn’t too bad. I didn’t see snow.” 

 

“This is no good, Cas.”  

 

It didn’t make any sense to Kevin. Why leave their snug hide-out in the middle of winter and risk getting caught in a serious storm? They’d been lucky they reached the cave at all. Lucky that a storm hadn’t stopped Cas from traveling to meet them. Lucky they weren’t caught in a blizzard in that very moment. And for what? Money? Gold? What did riches mean to them? What made greenbacks and gold worth their lives? 

 

Kevin was afraid. Sam was right. This wasn’t any good. Cas’s reassurances did nothing to ease his fear. Dean should have been awake. If he’d been the one to respond to Cas’s signal, then he would have been the one to welcome Cas, five or six miles out from the cave. He was too paranoid to lead Cas within a half-mile of their hiding spot. But he hadn’t been waiting, and that wasn’t by choice. Even Cas’s presence now didn’t disturb him. Dean wasn’t a light sleeper. Not so light that Cas could touch him after days of  _ not _ touching him and he’d not respond.  

 

Kevin sent a curious look to Cas. Was he more worried than he let on? Surely he’d had the same realization, if only because he himself had gone for four days without sleep and Dean would have done the same if he could have. 

 

“Cas, did you bring the pan?” 

 

“No. I told Kevin to get the rations.” 

 

Kevin’s heart jumped to his throat. Cas had told him to fill the bags with food, he hadn’t said anything about the  _ pan _ .  The pan never crossed his mind. Why hadn’t Cas ever mentioned the pan? 

 

He opened his mouth to demand an explanation from Cas, but the cold-eyed stare he focused on Kevin had him shriveling back, instinctually looking for Sam’s protection. Fortunately he wasn’t far, and he didn’t hesitate to lean forward and break the angry glare before the icy promise could become Kevin’s final reality. 

 

“Don’t worry about it. I got a can opener, and we ain’t always been so fancy that we could afCole a whole pan. We’re not gonna die without it.” 

 

“How do you cook dinner without a pan?” He had genuine bewilderment in his voice, and it seemed to be his confusion that fed the waves of rage rolling off of him. 

 

“Cas, my friend, we’re roughin’ it now. Our time of luxury has come to an end.” His smile was nearly reassuring. “I wish we had our blankets at least, but we’ll make do.” 

 

Now Cas looked downward, realizing what was truly at stake for them. Kevin did too and couldn’t believe he’d been so thoughtless. If he deserved to die for anything it was  _ that _ , but Cas wasn’t paying any attention to him. He could be blamed for forgetting a pan, but Cas hadn’t taken the time to properly ration and prepare himself, and Kevin couldn’t be blamed for that. 

 

“We’re not going back, are we?” 

 

“Can’t. We heard a shot, Cas. Somebody drew us out with a shot. I was riding south, as quick as I could.” 

 

“Why would you do that?” 

 

“Because it came from behind us, Cas. Somebody got between us and you and we couldn’t risk--” 

 

“You’re a goddamned fool. How you have survived for so long, I do not understand.” 

 

Sam reared back from the sudden venom. Kevin didn’t blame him. His eyes were no longer cold. They glowed red in the embers, and Kevin thought he saw smoke coming out of Cas’s ears. 

 

“You could have led them right to us.” 

 

“I didn’t lead you right to us. It did take you an extra day, didn’t you? I wanted to pad it out to two days, maybe three, but I didn’t think we could wait.” 

 

Sam knew the mountains better than Cas. Kevin wouldn’t be surprised if Sam knew more about the mountains than any white man--so maybe they had something going for them. 

 

“We should have at least a day, maybe two. But he’ll need to travel.” 

 

“I’ll be sure he can ride.” 

 

###

 

The temperature plummeted with the night and Kevin wondered how Sam and Dean had survived as long as they had with only the little fire and their coats. Compared to this, the boxcar was as comfortably and cozy as his little college apartment. It was strange to think he’d never see that apartment again. His parents had been happy to continue paying the rent for the space he no longer needed, claiming it was always a good idea to have an apartment in Boston. Now it sat empty and he sat huddled and freezing in a cave. 

 

It was strange to think he’d probably never see the boxcar again. 

 

Sam did a fine enough job with dinner, serving beans and bacon to each of them even without the convenience of a pan. He’d cooked the beans in the cans and laid the bacon flat on a hot stone in the fire. They’d eaten in silence. Cas set aside a little from his share for Dean, but Dean slept through the brief meal. 

 

After they ate, Sam moved closer to the mouth of the cave. Kevin nearly followed, but Cas caught him by the arm and pushed him down to the ground beside Dean. “Get as close to him as you can.” 

 

Cas slotted himself at Dean’s other side, carefully tucking his injured arm between them. 

 

“I suggest you get as much sleep as you can. It may not be so easy to come by after tonight.” 

 

“Did you bring the scroll?” 

 

“Of course I did. Why else would I bother to bring you?” 

 

“What is so important about the scroll?” 

 

Cas took so long to answer that Kevin wasn’t sure he intended to say anything at all. “These boys...they think it has an answer they’ve been looking for for a long time.” 

 

“Does it?” 

 

“You tell me.” 

 

He hadn’t found any answers yet. Maybe if he knew what the question was. But Cas didn’t look like he intended to elaborate. His eyes were closed and the conversation was over. It was easy to follow his example and sink away from the cold. When he woke up again, he was still curled into Dean, but now Sam was against his back, holding him in place with a hand on his thigh.  

 

Dean felt warm, but Sam’s body  was so hot that it felt like he was made of fire. His breathing was anything but steady and Kevin squeezed his eyes shut, counted to ten, then counted to one hundred and tried to fall asleep again, but he couldn’t.  

 

“I missed you.” The words were so soft, Kevin wasn’t sure he heard them at all. He wasn’t sure he was meant to hear them. He wasn’t sure what to do with them. He felt the automatic response building in his throat and he couldn’t stop himself from whispering, “Me, too.” 

 

The hand on his thigh tightened reflexively. He wasn’t touching Kevin anywhere inappropriate, strictly speaking, but Kevin was still intensely aware of the pressure and firmness of his fingers so close to the center of him. He felt tight, his muscles constricting, but it had nothing to do with the long, uncomfortable ride on Darwin’s back.  He didn’t push Sam’s hand away, didn’t think about telling him to stop.  Sam had touched him many times over the past month, and he was used to the feel of his hand, but he’d never quite touched him like this. 

 

Nobody had ever touched him quite like this. 

 

Sam shifted, pressing his face to the crook of Kevin’s neck and inhaling deeply. His whiskers tickled, but not unpleasantly so. The raw shiver down his spine had nothing to do with the cold, which he hardly even felt anymore, and everything to do with the unexpected texture of Sam’s lips against his skin. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, fanning hot air across Kevin’s neck and shoulders. Goosebumps erupted down his arms and he felt a strange catch in his throat. 

 

Did he want something... _ more _ from Sam? He felt something stirring inside of him, the points of origin at the very points where Sam touched him and he didn’t want it to stop. He didn’t want that sensation to fade, and he didn’t want to feel the cool air replace the heat from Sam’s body. He knew on some level that it wasn’t right--there was something disquieting about the intensity of his reaction, so disproportionate to the actual contact between them. He wanted to turn around so he could face Sam, press himself more fully against the mountain of his body. 

 

Like when he had been sick. 

 

Bits and pieces of those memories lingered with him, never very far from his conscious mind. He didn’t want to think about how secure and  _ right _ he felt every time he woke up and realized Sam was still holding him. He didn’t want to remember the sense of relief that rushed through him each time he realized Sam hadn’t released him. Of course, he told himself he was relieved because he was cold, and Sam was the best way to get warm, but it hadn’t been entirely that. 

 

The fact was, he wanted Sam to hold him. He hated the way they slept apart, and he often wondered what he would do if Sam ever returned to his own bed, silently slipping under the giant bear blanket and tucking Kevin against his chest. Now Kevin knew the answer to that question--he’d do nothing but burrow closer and hold his breath and shiver with barely suppressed delight. What other choice did he have? What more, or less, could he possibly want?


	6. Chapter 6

 

The mountain men, trappers, and traders who first braved the Uinta peaks had survived winter after winter there, proving it could be done. It was true that most of them descended from the mountains maimed, mauled, and scarred from their travels, but most of them did return, year after year, until nobody wanted the beaver skins anymore and they were forced to seek their fortunes elsewhere. Those men had survived the winters by leaving caches of food, skins, and other supplies throughout the valleys and canyons, along the well-worn trails from trap to trap.  They were often found near caves or rocks that formed natural shelter against the elements and sources of fresh water.  Dean and Sam had found half a dozen and made note of each one, adding their own stores to the meager amounts tucked away. 

 

“I believe we should split up,” Cas announced the third night after their arrival. They still had a little food, but not much, and Dean stirred and whimpered in his sleep, but never reached full consciousness. 

 

“Dean is in no condition to travel,” Sam said simply. As far as he was concerned, there wasn’t anything left to say. He wasn’t going to leave Dean. Cas wasn’t going to leave Dean. Kevin wasn’t going to travel on his own. Therefore, nobody was splitting up or going anywhere. 

 

“I’m aware of that. But if we all stay here, we will run out of food. Are you prepared to eat your brother, Sam? Because that’s what we’ll be forced to do.” 

 

“What are you thinking, then?” 

 

“Where’s the nearest cache? I know it can’t be far. You rode this direction for a reason.” 

 

“It’s about a day.” 

 

“Is there shelter?” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

“Take Kevin and the scroll there. When Dean wakes…” 

 

“We can’t leave you. What if something happens? What if you run out of food?” 

 

“We have to take our best chance at survival. We can’t spend all winter here and we can’t return to the boxcar.  We have to get to the basin. You know Dean would agree with me.” 

 

“I’ll get Kevin settled but then I’m coming back for the two of you.” 

 

Cas didn't even consider that option. “No.”

  
“Dean’s not going to make it here much longer. It’s too cold. Even right next to the fire.” 

 

“Don’t be stupid. Somebody out there wants you dead. You’re going to lay low and you’re going to keep moving, and you’re going to get Kevin and the scroll to lower ground before it’s too late.” 

 

They were both standing now, toe to toe, Sam’s nostrils flaring with anger, Cas’s face as calm as his voice. 

 

“I’m not leaving Dean.” 

 

“Do you think I was joking earlier? Or is that what you want? To get him inside of you?” 

 

Sam shoved Cas hard into the cave wall, though the other man just smiled in response. Sam was furious though, his face twisted with hurt, his eyes thunderous. They were both armed, but neither made a move for their guns. 

 

“I’m not going to leave him. He wouldn’t leave me.” 

 

“No, you’re right. He would die here with you and nothing I could say or do would change that. I know he loves you the most, Sam, and that’s why I’m telling you that you have to go.  If I let you stay, or ride back here, he would never forgive me.” 

 

“We’ll wait for you.” 

 

“No.” 

 

“We’ll wait,” Sam repeated. “We’ll take my horse, and leave the mule here, in case you need to travel with him.” 

 

“I’m not going to tie him to the back of a mule,” Cas said. “Take the mule.” 

 

Kevin felt a stab of disappointment at that. He didn’t want to ride the mule. It wasn’t as comfortable as riding a horse, and it wasn’t as warm and pleasant as riding with Sam. He was tired of being dragged all over the mountains, but he kept his mouth shut and his eyes down while they worked out their plan. 

 

Sam left without a word. Kevin’s anxiety must have been clear on his face, because Cas told him to relax. “He’s only making sure everything is safe.” 

 

Kevin nodded, though that did nothing to relieve his anxiety. Whoever shot Dean was still out there, and he might be doing nothing more than waiting for his best shot at Sam. With nothing to distract his dark thoughts, he took the scroll from Cas and stared at it until he developed a sharp pain between his eyes. Pain that only cleared when Sam’s large form filled the mouth of the cave. 

 

“We’ll leave in the morning,” he announced with an unhappy look at Dean. That night, they huddled beside the fire once again, the three of them doing their best to keep Dean warm. If he didn’t wake up soon, he wasn’t going to wake up at all. 

 

In the morning, Sam pulled Kevin onto the back of his horse, and they left without the mule. “It’s faster this way,” he said by way of explanation, but Kevin didn’t care. He wedged himself in the saddle between Sam and the back lip, wrapping his arm around Sam’s solid trunk and settling in for the ride. He pressed himself as much as he could to Sam’s back. There was almost no sense of boundary between them any longer, except the physical borders of their clothes. He and Sam now sat as closely as Dean and Cas, and slept as soundly in each other’s arms. 

 

The day proved to be bright and clear, with a crisp blue sky and not a single cloud to obstruct the sunlight. Kevin kept his face buried against Sam’s back to protect his eyes, and Sam had to ride with his hat brim pulled low. It was difficult to scan the mountain faces surrounding them, difficult to mark the differences in between the trees. He tried to keep from being completely out in the open, navigating through the thicket with some difficulty to avoid sudden clearings, but he couldn’t keep watch the way he wanted to. 

 

Despite their shared, unspoken fears of meeting Dean’s fate themselves, they reached the cache a handful of hours after the sun went down. Kevin knew why Sam kept pushing through the darkness and didn’t ask if they could stop, but by the time Sam finally pulled the horse up, Kevin was too stiff to dismount. Even when he saw that they were at an actual  _ cabin. _ A structure with four solid walls and a roof. He could have cried with relief, but he was too dehydrated, and his face was frozen.  Did Cas know they were so close to a house? He could care for Dean properly--or at least better than he could do in a drafty, dank cave. 

 

“I c-c-c-can’t…” Kevin tried to explain his plight, but he was shivering too hard, his entire frame shaking miserably as his legs spasmed from being locked in the same position for too long. He was scared the bay would startle and bolt before he had the Trance to ask Sam for help. Fortunately, Sam seemed to understand without an explanation. He embraced Kevin and lifted him down from the horse, cradling him in his arms as easily as he would hold a woman. Kevin was too tired to protest being carried over the threshold and into the squat building. There was food inside, and dry wood, and it would likely keep them alive a few more weeks. 

 

“Why didn’t we just come here from the beginning?” Kevin asked, once the fire was burning brightly and his muscles began to relax. 

 

“It’s what I was riding for. Dean hates it, but I think it’ll be fine for now.”

 

The cabin was at least twenty years old and there were plenty of unsealed cracks between the boards, but compared to the cave, it was a fine, warm home. The chill melted from his bones but the ache in his muscles wouldn’t fade. He couldn’t sit in one position for too long--sitting at all was fairly uncomfortable. He shifted his weight and fidgeted, forcing himself to his feet and maintaining his balance for as long as he could just so he could try to stretch his cramping thighs and calves. 

 

“I can help,” Sam offered as Kevin went through another cycle of faltering, limping, and falling. 

 

“How?” 

 

“You got to lay out flat.” 

 

Kevin grimaced. “I’m not sure I can.” 

 

“You gotta. Come here.” 

 

The cabin had a few modest pieces of furniture. A hand-carved table and rickety chair sat on one side of the fire, and to the left was something Kevin could technically call a bed. It was a box made of pine slabs, filled with old, musty skins and sitting about four or five inches off the ground. Sam rearranged the furs and then put his coat over the top before gesturing for Kevin to lay down.  

 

Kevin managed to lower himself to the bed, but he was all S-shaped and cramped. Whoever had made the bed had clearly been short, and there was no give to the fur, which was ice cold to the touch. Sam put a hand on his shoulder and another on the back of his leg and forced him to lie flat on his stomach, stretched out with his toes hanging over the edge. Kevin’s muscles immediately seized, but Sam anticipated that response and he quickly worked his large hands over his cramping legs, squeezing and pressing the knots until they began to subside. It hurt more than the cramping itself did, but Kevin bit back his moan and buried his face in his arms. 

 

Sam’s hands were strong and focused, and he worked at a slow, consistent speed. Kevin felt like he was actually getting taller, gaining whole inches as Sam straightened his legs and stroked his hands over Kevin’s thighs and buttocks. Soon the moan of pain he bit back turned into a small whimper of pleasure, and he couldn’t keep that bottled up in his throat. Sam froze and Kevin’s breath stopped in his chest. 

 

“Are you okay?” 

 

“Yes. I’m quite...I’m very...well. I feel much better now.” 

 

“Good. We need to make sure you drink more water. I’ll melt down some snow and--” 

 

“Please don’t stop.” The words rushed out of him before he could rethink them. Now that Sam was touching him so directly, Kevin couldn’t stand the thought of him breaking contact. Sam hesitated for another moment, but then the massage resumed, and Kevin exhaled, melting against the furs that were gradually absorbing the heat of the fire. 

 

Sam’s hands moved higher, over the waistband and lingered at the small of his back. Even through the layers of clothes, Kevin could feel the heat of his fingers resting there. He tensed slightly, but he didn’t flinch away. Not even when he pulled at Kevin’s shirt, lifting it higher until a strip of skin was lay bare to his callused fingers. It felt like a sensation he knew, a touch he’d been waiting for as the nights passed between them. 

 

Kevin didn’t know how far Sam would go. He didn’t quite know what to expect from the other man, but he did nothing to break the contact. The fact was, Sam’s touch felt good. Better than Kevin had expected, and it took all of his strength not to flex his hips and push up against Sam’s fingers. He lingered on that strip of skin until Kevin though he might be forced to do  _ something _ , to beg or to move or something. Threads of heat wrapped around him, pulling his stomach tight, and his groin tighter, and all Sam did was stroke his fingers over the ridge of his spine. 

 

He dipped his fingers beneath the clothing, exploring higher and higher, until his fingers were on the back of Kevin’s neck.  Kevin arched up, holding himself above the furs with one hand and pulling at his clothes with the other. The chill raised goosebumps on his newly exposed skin--goosebumps that were quickly chased away by Sam’s firm touch. His fingers danced up his neck and buried themselves in Kevin’s hair, curling slightly, pulling on the long tendrils and forcing him to lift his head. 

 

Kevin looked up, meeting Sam’s steady brown eyes. He saw the question in the dark depths, and knew that if he wanted the touching to stop, if he never wanted to explore further, if he wanted Sam to leave him alone, now was the time to say something. 

 

Instead, he acted impulsively, with no second thought to the possible consequences. He reached up and cupped the back of Sam’s much larger head, and they stayed locked like that for a few shaky breaths. He didn’t know exactly what to do, but only one thing felt right, and Kevin pulled the other man closer and closer until only a hair’s breadth separated their mouths. 

 

And then nothing separated them. Kevin could only follow Sam’s lead, or try to follow, as he claimed Kevin’s mouth. With nothing to compare it to, Kevin couldn’t say if it was good or bad, but it was rough, Sam’s teeth mashed against his lips, and his whiskers abrasive.  There wasn’t any finesse or tenderness, but there was a sense of hunger that awoke something deep inside of Kevin. 

 

Sam pawed at Kevin’s remaining clothes, unbuttoning his trousers and pushing them down Kevin’s hips. In no time at all, Kevin was naked, clothes discarded and his body laid out beneath Sam’s roving hands. Once he had the clothes out of the way, he seemed determined to touch every inch of Kevin’s body, like he wanted to know him--or maybe he simply wanted to mark Kevin’s skin. To make sure that Kevin never forgot him. 

 

Kevin tried to return the favor, but his fingers were cold and stupid, his fingers trembling violently as he tugged at Sam’s huge coat. Sam broke away from the passionate, if clumsy, kiss, shrugging the coat away and pushing himself to his knee. Kevin watched, his pulse pounding in his throat, his entire frame shaking to fight the chill in the air. Or maybe he was shaking with excitement. It was hard to say, because he felt flush with heat, but he couldn’t stop the tremors racing through his limbs. 

 

Sam divested himself of his pants, giving Kevin an up-close view of his granite thighs and his long tool. Kevin caught his breath at the sight of it, wondering what Sam could possibly want him to do with it--where would it possibly fit? Sam nudged him over to the edge of the box and joined him on the furs. Kevin’s toes rested comfortably on the footboard, but Sam’s legs hung awkwardly over the edge. He didn’t seem to mind, though, as his hand went to Kevin’s hip to pull him closer. 

 

Sam was full and erect and honestly, he reminded Kevin a little of Dean’s stallion. Kevin’s own member was only half-hard, and seemed to be wilting. Until Sam’s hand slid from Kevin’s hip to his soft tool. The first touch startled him, his tender skin very much unaccustomed to the coarse texture of Sam’s fingers. But the heat soon soothed away any sense of discomfort, and Sam close his fist around the shaft, squeezing gently until his pulse quickened and his flesh seemed to come alive against Sam’s palm. 

 

Kevin couldn’t keep still as the new, overwhelming, but still somewhat strange, sensation overtook him.  Sam began to stroke him, dragging his palm from the base to the tip, claiming Kevin’s mouth in another hard, unrelenting kiss. Kevin folded his fingers in Sam’s shirt, clinging to it because he needed to cling to something, hips jerking wildly in response to every motion, every gesture and touch. He had no control over the reaction, and when he tried to lock his muscles and remain still, Sam would twist his wrist and or drag his thumb over Kevin’s head, and he would lose control all over again. 

 

Sweat slicked his skin. It felt strange to be so warm, to actually perspire, after being so cold for so many days. He felt hot inside, too, like he was melting. His toes twitched and curled, his body tightening so severely, he thought he might cramp again. It felt good, though. So good. So much better than anything Kevin had ever imagined, when he thought about what it might be like to let Sam touch him. The heat built up, stoked by Sam’s quick rhythm, until everything erupted. He couldn’t stop himself from crying out as he covered Sam’s hand with long, warm strings of come. 

 

Sam didn’t stop touching him. He squeezed the last of the fluid from Kevin’s softening cock, swiping his thumb over the crown and manipulating him with gentle, clever touches. Kevin didn’t even have the Trance to catch his breath before he was hard again, but so tender it made him wince and gasp when Sam flexed his fingers around his shaft. 

 

“Have you ever poked a girl?” Sam asked, his voice rumbling through Kevin’s body, chasing after-shocks of pleasure all the way down to his toes. 

 

“No.” 

 

“Do you want to give me a poke?” Sam punctuated his question with a squeeze and a stroke, awakening Kevin’s body, making him burn with desire he’d never possessed before. 

 

“Yes,” Kevin rasped. “Yes, I want...I want that.” 

 

Sam released him for a moment, turning to reach for the saddlebags he left near the head of the bed. He pulled a small bottle from the bag and emptied its contents into his palm. Kevin couldn’t quite make it out in the dim light, but it seemed like a thick, glistening oil. He rubbed his palms together, one hand returning to Kevin’s shaft, the other disappearing between his own legs. Kevin lifted himself up on his elbow, watching as Sam’s long fingers disappeared again and again. 

 

_ You like this? _ Kevin wanted to ask, but the words wouldn’t form behind his lips. It was obvious that Sam liked it. His eyes were closed, his head tilted back and his lips parted, and he wasn’t quite moaning, but Kevin still heard a quickening in his breath. He was entranced by the sight of Sam’s pleasure, the fire inside of him burning brighter and hotter than ever before. 

 

“Kevin--” The word was broken, half-choked from a tight throat. It was enough to make him move and he repositioned himself between Sam’s splayed legs, his hand replacing Sam’s on his hard flesh. He spread the oil on his skin, letting it mingle with the fluid that still clung to his skin. Sam bent his knees, pulling his legs up and even wider, allowing Kevin access to his stretched, slick hole. 

 

At first, he met resistance, the flesh refusing to give to him as he pressed forward. He fumbled awkwardly, trying to force himself inside, but he must have had the angle wrong. Sam reached between them and gripped Kevin’s shaft, angling him downward and then pushing his hips up, taking Kevin’s full length with a single, easy stroke. 

 

Sam’s hand constricting around him, squeezing and massaging him, and felt amazing, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his body. Sam wrapped his long, strong legs around Kevin, pulling him closer, creating a prison Kevin couldn’t escape from--one he had no wish to escape from. He braced both hands against Sam’s shoulders, and tried to think of what he should do. Tried to figure out a way to catch his breath. 

 

“You gotta move with me,” Sam ground out, his hips pistoning, sliding back until Kevin was almost completely free from his body, and then slamming forward again. By the second time, Kevin understood what to do, and he jerked his hips to meet Sam’s thrust. He must have done something right, because Sam gasped and clenched down, tightening around Kevin with all the strength of his rippling muscles. 

 

Kevin did his best to keep up, tried to do what Sam needed him to do, but ultimately, Sam just held him in place and pumped his hips, fucking himself on Kevin’s shaft. His breathing was loud and ragged, and Kevin watched him in the dancing shadows, his face passing in and out of the light as he came undone. He actually shouted when Kevin touched his member, fisting him until he was slick with pre-come and sweat. 

 

Sam’s eruption put Kevin’s to shame. He shot high in the air and hit Kevin in the chest, painting his skin with the white fluid. Sam’s great shudder of pleasure was enough to push Kevin over the edge for a second time. His shaft jerk, buried deep inside Sam’s body, and he pumped him full of his spendings, finally forced to stop by the intensity of the sensation radiating through him. 

 

Kevin collapsed on Sam’s large body and Sam wrapped his arms around him, holding him close as he took deep, even breaths. Kevin’s eyes felt heavy, and all he wanted to do was nuzzle close and let himself fall asleep. 

 

“How did you know what to do?” Kevin asked thickly. 

 

“Didn’t I tell you that I grew up in a whore house?” 

 

“You mean you--?” 

 

“I earned my keep,” Sam said simply. “You good?” 

 

“I am.” 

 

Sam tucked Kevin’s head against his shoulder. “Let’s try to get some rest while we can. It’s nice not to be sleeping on the ground.” 

 

It was nice to not be sleeping alone. It was nice to listen to Sam’s heartbeat echo in his chest. It was nice to feel secure and satisfied. Now that he’d found his way to Sam’s arms and bed, he didn’t want to be anywhere else. 


	7. Chapter 7

It felt good to open the cabin door and let the crisp morning air in for a minute or two after a storm trapped them inside for what felt like a very pleasant eternity. Sam told him it only snowed for one day, the second was just a bitter wind blowing off the northern peaks and among the drifts.  Two days or two weeks, Kevin only wished it could have lasted longer. He experienced a lifetime of pleasure between the first snowflake and the sudden burst of light through the cracks in the walls. Kevin had been awake when the sun reached through, and he saw the golden stripes light Sam’s pink lips and catch the sun-bleached tips of his hair. 

 

“Will the snow end soon?” He was tired of snow. He wanted to see what the ground looked like beneath its blanket.

 

“It’s not snowing.” Sam wrapped his arm around him and pulled him back. When they were horizontal, it didn’t seem awkward to Kevin, but he barely reached Sam’s chest. The huge body enveloped him and even though he could see each breath hanging in the air over his lips, he didn’t feel cold. 

 

“I mean, will all this melt soon? How long does winter last here?” 

 

Sam’s frame shook with a soft laugh.  “This isn’t winter.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“It’s gonna get worse,” Sam clarified. “It was about time to start moving.”

 

“What about all this snow?” 

 

“It’s only been a few flurries.” 

 

“But...Dean was worried about the pass closing, wasn’t he?” 

 

“That was the pass to our hideout. About two thousand feet higher than we are right now.” Sam pointed straight ahead.  “We need to get east, through those peaks, and head south before winter really sets in.” 

 

“To where?” 

 

“The basin. A place they call Starvation on the Strawberry River.” 

 

“That doesn’t sound very promising.” 

 

“It’s not, but it’s a damned sight better than freezing to death here. And nobody will bother us there. But we can’t go down there if somebody’s following us.”

 

“You’re worried about the gunshot you heard?” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

“Maybe whoever...the indian...had the gun.” 

 

“No. They don’t travel with guns like that.” His arms tightened around Kevin unconsciously.  “But the Utes don’t need guns to be deadly shots. I don’t know how it missed his heart.” 

 

“So there’s an indian out there that wants you dead, and a bounty hunter?” 

 

“Dean reckons there’s two.” 

 

“Maybe Dean’s wrong about that.” 

 

“Dean isn’t wrong.” 

 

“About anything?” 

 

“Not that I can remember.” 

 

“Do you think they’ll be riding down soon.” 

 

“I was thinking maybe if they don’t, I’ll go fetch them.” 

 

Sam wasn’t asking for Kevin’s opinion, and he understood on some level that it wasn’t his place to offer it, but he couldn’t let Sam leave without saying a word. Between the snow, the wolves, the indian, and one or two bounty hunters, he couldn’t stand the thought of Sam leaving. They were warm and safe and fairly comfortable--he understood they couldn’t stay there all winter, but he didn’t want Sam to leave him behind. When it was time to travel, they should travel together. 

 

“I don’t think you should,” Kevin said in a rush. 

 

He felt the difference in the way Sam held his body--a sudden tension made his muscles rigid.  “Did Castiel say anything to you? About Dean?” 

 

“No. Did he...did he say something to you?” 

 

“He doesn’t think Dean is going to make it.” 

 

“That’s what he said?” 

 

“He didn’t have to say it. He told me to leave. He wouldn’t tell me to leave if he thought Dean was going to wake up.” 

 

“If that’s what you think, then why did you go? Why didn’t you stay with him?” 

 

“Because...I guess it different when it’s just the two of us. But it doesn’t really make sense to die with him right now.” He paused for a moment before adding. “We need to ride out soon.” 

 

“When?” 

 

“Soon. While the weather holds. But not right now.” He lifted Sam off his feet and closed the door. Kevin tilted his head back and Sam immediately claimed his mouth. He thrust his tongue past Kevin’s lips and Kevin forgot about the long ride ahead of them. He forgot about the man dying in the mountains behind them. He couldn’t think about anything except clinging to the mountain of a man who held him. 

 

###

  
  


There was something magical, even uncanny, about the snow in the moonlight.  Kevin knew he should crawl into bad with Sam and wrap himself around his massive, warm body. Sam said they were traveling in the morning, without Cas and Dean, and Kevin had the feeling it was going to be a long, difficult journey. But there was a break in the weather, and their food was almost gone. It wouldn’t do to stay in the cabin for much longer. A part of Kevin wanted nothing more than to find a bit of warmth and peace in Sam’s arms, but he couldn’t sleep. When he closed his eyes, he only saw the scroll. 

 

He’d made good use of his time while they waited for Cas and Dean. Sam mostly left him to his work, though he was happy to reward Kevin any time he finished a word or two, and more than happy to offer a bit of distraction when Kevin’s frustration mounted and the meaning completely eluded his grasp. He was pretty sure he had the gist of the scroll, if not the full, complete meaning, and he was equally sure that Sam would not like what Kevin had to report. 

 

At least he no longer feared for his life. He was safe with Sam. And perhaps the unknown assassin had freed Kevin from Dean’s tyranny.  Cas didn’t seem overly invested in the translation, only in Dean’s happiness, and so maybe he wouldn’t shoot the messenger of unwanted news. But no matter how many times Kevin tried to reassure himself that he wasn’t in mortal danger, the knot in his stomach would not untie itself. The words on the page didn’t change, either. 

 

Sam was a light sleeper, and Kevin wasn’t surprised when he heard the other man stir and rise from the pallet by the fire. Kevin didn’t look away from the window. The snow truly was beautiful under the full moon, sparkling like diamonds dusted the frozen crust. 

 

“You’re cold,” Sam said, wrapping his arms around Kevin. It was so easy to sink back into the heat, so easy to let Sam support his weight. Kevin was cold. Frigid. Frozen right down to his bones, but he barely noticed that anymore. Only when Sam covered his body did he feel anything except the chill. And now that chill had reached down to the very core of him.  

 

“I was working.” 

 

“There’s not enough light.” 

 

Kevin smiled a little at the concern in Sam’s voice. Would it still be there after Kevin told Sam the truth? 

 

“Where did the scroll come from?” 

 

Sam tensed a little, pulling back as he always did when Kevin tried to talk about the object that brought Kevin into their world. This time, Kevin didn’t let him pull away. He threaded their fingers together and gripped Sam’s hand tight. 

 

“Please tell me. I need to know.” 

 

“Our mother. It was among her belongings when she died. She didn’t have much. Usually she sold whatever she had that was of value, but she held onto that. Dean said…” 

 

“What did Dean say?” 

 

“Dean said she got it from his father. That it was the only thing he left behind. Said he’d come back for it, and for her.” 

 

“Is that what she told Dean?” 

 

“No. He said he heard them once. Arguing the night before he left. She wasn’t always a whore, you know. She married young and I guess he wasn’t much for the married life. Not even having a son could keep him in one place for very long. He traveled a lot, rode with some unsavory men. He’d send for her, kept bringing her farther and farther west, until she ended up in Cheyenne. Which was no place for a woman with a child. And he left her there.” 

 

“Whatever happened to him?” 

 

“Nobody knows. But he said she needed to keep the scroll safe. He told her that it held the key.” 

 

“The key to what?” 

 

“To their happiness. Dean said the night he left, he was saying he was going to find somebody who could translate it for him and they could settle down and they’d never want for anything again.” 

 

“Did he think it would lead him to treasure?” 

 

“I don’t know. Obviously, whatever he thought, he never came back. There were plenty of Celestials in Cheyenne, I don’t know why she never got it translated. But she kept it all those years, and when she died, Dean went and found it.” 

 

“Maybe she did get it translated,” Kevin said softly. It was easy to imagine that she found somebody who could read it.  Even easier to imagine her disappointment. “Cas told me once there was a legend. What is it?” 

 

“I don’t know if it’s true. It’s just a story she used to tell us sometimes. In the winter, when business was slow and she would tuck us into our bed...she said there was a cave that no white man had seen in two hundred years, full of gold and treasure left by the Spaniards. Enough gold to buy a dozen houses and...I don’t know.” 

 

“Did she say that’s what the parchment said?” 

 

“No.” 

 

“Did you believe the story about the cave?” 

 

“No. But Dean did. And Dean reasoned that maybe his dad left to find this cave, and maybe he left the parchment with her to keep it safe so nobody else could find it before him. And maybe...maybe if we found it, you know, we could have a proper life.” 

 

“It never occurred to him that it was only a story?”  _ It never occurred to you? _ Kevin wanted to ask, but of course it didn’t, because Dean said it was true, and Dean was always right about everything.  “What about Cas? Does he believe it?” 

 

“Dean believes enough for all of us.” 

 

“What do you believe, Sam?” 

 

“I don’t know. “

 

“What if...what if it’s not real?” 

 

“The story?” 

 

“The story, the scroll...any of it. All of it.” 

 

“What are you saying, Kevin? Have you finished the translation?” 

 

“Every word? No. But...most of it.” Kevin shivered a little.” Probably enough of it, I think.” 

 

“What does it say?” 

 

“It says...it says ‘I miss you very much and I will send for you soon.’” 

 

“What? That’s it?” 

 

“It looks like perhaps it was a written by a man working on the docks in San Francisco. He said he would be going into the mountains, that he had a new job building the railroad tracks, and when he had enough money, he would send for his family.” Kevin took a deep breath. “There’s no legend. There’s no treasure.” 

 

“If that’s all it was, how did Dean’s dad get it?” 

 

“I don’t know. Maybe it was stolen from the man who wrote it. Clearly, he never had the chance to send it to his wife. I don’t know.” 

 

“Why are you shaking?” 

 

The first shiver down his spine had multiplied quickly, and now he was trembling so hard he could barely answer Sam’s question. He could say he was just cold, but it wasn’t the cold. He opened his mouth, but the fear now radiating from deep within his heart couldn’t be articulated. Sam turned Kevin away from the window and forced him to meet his eyes--barely visible in the moon’s silvery glow. 

 

“What’s wrong?” 

 

“It’s not...that’s not the answer you wanted to hear. It’s not what you’ve been waiting for.” 

 

“So...what? Do you think I’m going to drag you out into the snow and shoot you? I’m not ever going to hurt you, Kevin. And I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” 

 

“What about Dean? Or Cas?” Their threats had been clear enough, and neither of them had any particular reason to be kind or merciful towards Kevin. His use to them was over. 

 

“Don’t worry about them. I’ll handle Dean and Cas...well, he’ll handle Dean, too. I don’t think he ever believe the parchment was the answer to all our prayers.” Sam cupped Kevin’s face between his large hands. His fingers felt cool, but they quickly warmed, absorbing the heat from Kevin’s cheeks. His heart was already racing, but that touch sent it soaring, and he began to tremble for a different reason. “Come back to bed. It’ll be dawn soon, and we have to set out at first light.” 

 

There was a heavy note in his voice, and Kevin realized that the parchment was not Sam’s first concern. It probably wasn’t even on his short list of problems. What did it matter how Dean might react to the news of the translation when Dean wasn’t even with them? When Dean might never join them again? Kevin didn’t know how Sam would deal with that eventuality. Or maybe he was already dealing with it?

 

Sam caressed Kevin’s jaw with his thumb, brushing against the ever-growing beard before leaning in to claim his mouth. Despite everything Sam had shown Kevin in the previous days, each kiss was still a surprise, shocking enough to make him gasp as desire flooded him. He tingled, his flesh sparking, his blood thundering in his ears as he welcomed Sam’s affection. He wrapped his arms around Sam’s neck, his legs naturally bending around the larger man’s hips as Sam effortlessly lifted him from the floor. 

 

Sam carried him to their pallet and gently lowered him to the fur. Kevin couldn’t help his groan of protest as Sam broke the kiss, but he was silenced by the gentle touch of Sam’s fingers to his lips as his mouth traveled down Kevin’s body. His trembling began anew, though now he shivered for a much different reason. He didn’t like to think about what Sam had revealed to him so casually about his previous sexual experiences--he found the thought of anybody using Sam so upsetting that it usually made his stomach churn and his member wilt, but the truth was, Sam had learned his lessons well. And the way he used his mouth and tongue was more than exquisite. 

 

It was life changing. 

 

It was also strange to lie there as Sam’s beard tickled over his stomach and thighs, as his hot breath fanned over his sensitive skin, and as his tongue danced closer and closer to the source of Kevin’s pleasure. He looked down, but they were too far from the window for the light to reach, and the fire was burning low, nearly down to coals. He couldn’t see Sam’s face, only make out the vague outline of his head as he pushed Kevin’s pants down his thighs and freed his thickening member. 

 

The first swipe of his tongue across the throbbing head at Kevin sucking in his breath. Sam’s mouth was so hot it felt like it might scald his most delicate skin, and it wasn’t a sensation that Kevin ever really got used to. He could become accustomed to the heat, could clench his fists and thighs to help steady himself and his breathing, but the actual texture of Sam’s tongue, the impossibility of the situation, the unfamiliar bliss, never became less novel. A part of him expected it to end without warning--always thought Sam might just stop and leave him suffering, aching for more. But Sam never did just stop. The first brush of his tongue was certainly never the  _ last _ brush of contact. It was only the initial warning. The promise of so much more to come. 

 

Under Sam’s careful ministrations, Kevin forgot the fear that still lingered within his chest. He forgot about the drifts of snow closing in around them, forgot about the journey still ahead of them. He forgot that it was wrong to let anybody outside of marriage touch him like that--especially another man. There was only pleasure. Pleasure curling around him, licking at him like the long fingers of an orange flame, engulfing him from his fingers to his toes. Engulfing him the way Sam engulfed his shaft, swallowing him down and holding him within the tight confines of his throat. 

 

When he swallowed around Kevin’s firm flesh, Kevin couldn’t keep his hands at his sides any longer. He reached for him, his fingers twining through Sam’s long hair, clenching him tightly, his fingers spasming and pulling every time Sam’s throat clenched. Every few moments, Sam blew warm air from his nose and took  another deep breath, but he never released Kevin, never broke contact. The pleasure was unrelenting, almost like an assault, and Kevin couldn’t withstand it for very long. 

 

A fact that Sam well knew, Kevin was sure. 

 

Kevin’s hands clenched down and his hips shot up, his body rocking with the force of his bliss. Sam didn’t break his rhythm, didn’t do anything to avoid the salty flood in the back of his throat, just swallowed down every drop until Kevin was completely spent, weak and rung out. His hands fell away from Sam’s hair and he released the breath he’d long been holding in a low, shuddering sigh. 

 

Sam moved, sliding up Kevin’s body and wrapping his arms around him, rolling onto his back so Kevin was settled firmly on his chest. He rested with his ear over Sam’s heart, listening to the steady, familiar sound until it lulled him to sleep. 


	8. Chapter 8

Sam woke Kevin before the first fingers of dawn brushed against the surrounding peaks with a slow, sweet kiss. He built up the fire and made coffee and the last of their beans, eating his portion quickly before ducking out of the cabin. Kevin took as much time as he could to enjoy both, warming his fingers on his tin cup and chewing the beans slowly while Sam saw to the horse. Kevin felt a stab of sadness as he prepared to leave the small cabin, knowing they had no other choice, but deeply regretting the fact they couldn’t stay there, alone and together, until the spring thaw. It was small and chilly, but it was  _ their _ space. A place they didn’t have to share. A place where the rest of the world never intruded. 

 

When Kevin finished his breakfast, he packed what was left of their paltry supplies and the worthless parchment in the saddlebag and put the fire out with a heavy heart. Nothing but darkness greeted him as he stepped outside, the buffalo blanket secured around his shoulders, and he whistled softly, hoping Sam’s response would lead him in the correct direction before he abandoned the safety of the cabin altogether. 

 

But Sam didn’t respond. 

 

He whistled again, this time daring to raise the volume enough for it to echo off the surrounding trees. He cocked his head as the echoes faded, waiting for the response, but there was nothing. No whistle. No approaching footsteps. No friendly nicker from the big bay horse. There was nothing but silence and shadows. A wave of vertigo hit Kevin and he stepped back inside the cabin, certain he  _ must _ be dreaming. Sam would not just disappear like that. He wouldn’t abandon Kevin in the cabin. Something must have happened to him, but Sam was a very big man. Who or what could take him without a sound? 

 

Kevin’s thoughts immediately turned to the indian who had shot Dean. Sam had told him that Utes didn’t need guns, could kill effectively and silently. Kevin didn’t have a gun, or a knife, or anything to defend himself with. He peered out the door, staring into the darkness for any sign of life, even a flicker of a shadow, but the darkness remained uninterrupted. 

 

Pink slashed across the sky in the far distance, but it wasn’t enough light to help Kevin. He took a few deep breaths, trying to quiet his rapidly growing fear, but he didn’t know how long he could keep his panic at bay. If there was somebody--a Ute--lurking around the cabin, he would likely be dead before he even realized he was shot. And if Sam rode off without him, how would he ever make it down from the mountain? How would he survive another day? There was no food, no heat. Getting shot was almost the better option. At least it would be over quickly. 

 

He felt like he had to do something, but he was paralyzed by his indecision and his ignorance. What could he do? Run into the darkness, shouting Sam’s name and making himself a target? No, no, that wasn’t an option. He needed to think of a better option, but his mind was as blank as the sheet of snow in front of him. 

 

He blinked, his eyes focusing on the ground, and he realized he could see the snow with a bit more clarity. There were tracks. Two sets of horse tracks, and a third that might have been a man’s, though that wasn’t quite as easy to make out. The tracks came from the south and went around the side of the cabin, but there was only one set. So whoever had approached the cabin hadn’t come back around. There were no other marks in the snow, no blood, and he hadn’t heard any gunshots or shouts. 

 

Kevin stepped back and dropped the saddlebags on the small table and let the blanket fall from his shoulders. The world around him grew brighter by the second, the sky now a soft pink and gray, the outlines of the trees easier to make out as he slipped outside the cabin. He carefully rounded the corner and still didn’t see any signs of Sam, but there was a hatchet buried in a stump, a few pieces of broken wood littering the ground. It took all of his strength to pull it free of the stump, but the cold, wooden handle felt good in his hand. Solid. He didn’t know if he’d be able to use it on anybody, but he didn’t feel quite so vulnerable and afraid with its weight against his palm. 

 

He kept close to the small building, half expecting to find the owners of the strange tracks as soon as he founded the north corner, but the north side of the cabin was as quiet as the south side. The only difference was the tracks. They weren’t in a straight line any longer. One went to the east, the other to the west, and in between them was a third set that skewed haphazardly to the southeast. Kevin clenched the hatchet even tighter, until his fingers hurt and splinters dug into his thin skin. He tried to whistle again, but his mouth was too dry, and no matter how many times he swallowed, he couldn’t seem to wet it again. He clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering, afraid that in the silence the sound of his teeth clicking would be explosive. 

 

A gunshot shattered the air without warning, and Kevin looked around frantically, half expecting to feel the heat of blood erupting from his chest. But if he was the target of the bullet, the shooter missed. He dropped low on instinct, crouching against the building and wrapping his arms around himself, trying to make himself as small as possible and invisible in the brightening light. He stood on the west side of the building, so he was still cast in shadows, but that offered a flimsy protection. 

 

He heard the crunch of a horse’s hoof pushing through the crusty snow, and he risked a glance around the corner of the cabin, hope suddenly blossoming inside of him. But it wasn’t Sam’s familiar bay. The horse pushing through the long, skeletal limbs of the trees was golden and white, like sunshine on snow, and the burly man on its back was a complete stranger to Kevin. 

 

Kevin ducked back out of sight and quickly backtracked, slipping back inside the shelter. He felt safer there, though he understood that was only an illusion. He wasn’t safer, especially if the stranger noticed his tracks. He closed the door and pressed himself flat against the wall beside it, focusing on keeping his breathing even and slow as he listened to the approaching horse. The hooves stopped directly outside and he heard the man dismount from his saddles, his boots landing in the snow. 

 

It never occurred to Kevin that he might not be in any danger. That the man might be there because Sam and Dean were wanted criminals and Kevin was their victim. He forgot that he and Sam were not the same. He forgot that Sam was a bastard raised by a whore, that he had no home, no place in the world except for the outposts and caches long abandoned by dead men. He forgot that Dean was a murderer many times over. He forgot the true source of danger to his person. Possibly because he could still taste Sam’s kiss on his lips--hot with a slightly bitter tinge from his coffee. 

 

When the man opened the door, Kevin acted out of instinct, fueled by his fear for Sam. Unable to separate himself from Sam’s well-being, he felt as though he was acting in his own self-defense when he brought the hatchet down on the unsuspecting stranger, burying it in his back, between his shoulder blades as he stepped into the cabin. His hand went to the Colt on his hip, but Kevin threw a wild punch. Somehow, his fist connected with the taller man’s jaw and he stumbled backwards, into the wall, pushing the hatchet blade even deeper into his spine. 

 

He sank to the floor without a word, his eyes wide with shock, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth where Kevin hit him. Kevin stood at him for several long seconds, shocked that he didn’t move or blink or try to stand. Finally, he realized what that meant. 

 

He was dead. 

 

As simple as that. A handful of seconds and a decision Kevin didn’t even remember making, and a man was dead. 

 

Sam. He needed to find Sam. 

 

He didn’t want to take the time to retrieve the hatchet, so he simply grabbed the Colt from the dead man’s hip and hurried out to where the horse waited. The golden beast pawed at the snow, but stood still as Kevin swung himself up on the saddle, somehow holding himself steady with one hand and keeping the gun clutched in his other hand. It felt weird to settle on the saddle by himself, like there was too much space, and when he kicked the horse’s side, it bolted forward and nearly sent him toppling to the ground. But he managed to regain his balance, gripping the reins tightly to follow the tracks that disappeared to the east. 

 

Kevin knew nothing about tracking, but it wasn’t difficult to follow these, especially as the sun crested over the top of the mountains, spreading light down the ridge. Kevin didn’t feel the cold. He didn’t feel anything but the horse and the gun, couldn’t hear anything but the gunshot echoing in his ears again and again and again.  

 

He didn’t have to ride far before the tracks led him to a small clearing in the trees. The sound of rushing water wasn’t far off, and there were animal tracks crisscrossing from one side to the other. On the far end, he saw two figures--one was lying flat in the snow, and the other crouched beside him. A scream of fury built in Kevin’s throat, but he swallowed it down, nudging his horse forward at a slow walk. He wanted to rush over the distance, but he didn’t want to attract the man’s attention. Not until he was close enough to shoot with some confidence--he’d never shot a gun before. His hands were shaking badly. He knew he’d probably only have time for one shot, and he didn’t want to blow it. Didn’t want to risk missing the man who had laid Sam out flat. 

 

Kevin was halfway across the clearing before the stranger looked up. He did a double take when he realized that the horse had a new rider, and maybe something in Kevin’s face scared him. Or maybe it was the sight of the big Colt pointed at his head with a hand that was not altogether steady. His hands went up and he slowly rose to his feet. 

 

“You must be Kevin.” He spoke with a low drawl. “My name’s Bobby and I ain’t come here to hurt you, kid. There’s no need to be pointing that mean piece my way.” 

 

“You killed my friend.” 

 

“Your friend?” The stranger frowned. “You mean Winchester?” 

 

“His name is Sam.” 

 

“Sam? Sam ain’t dead yet. I winged him and he fell of his horse. He hit his head but he’s still breathing. Now why don’t you put that gun down so we can talk.” 

 

“I’ll do the talking. Who are you? What are you doing here?” 

 

“I told, my name’s Bobby, and I came here looking for you. You’ve given a lot of people a scare. They’re waiting for you to come home.” 

 

“Why did you shoot him?” 

 

“He drew on me first. It was self-defense. I didn’t want to shoot, I just came here to find you, but he didn’t give me a choice.” 

 

“I don’t believe you.” 

 

“Why would I lie to you, kid? You can come over and see for yourself. He’s still drawing breath.” 

 

If that were true, Kevin feared he wouldn’t be drawing breath for much longer. Not if he was just left lying there in the snow. But Bobby was between him and Kevin, and Kevin did not trust the man one iota. He wore a gun on his hip, too, and his narrow gray eyes were as hard as flint. His voice was kind, but he shot Sam.  Kevin wished Dean were there--Bobby would already be bleeding if the elder Winchester was on his feet. 

 

“Get on your horse.” Kevin didn’t know how or why his voice remained so even. Full, too. Not thready and breathy, even though he barely felt like he had the strength to speak at all. “And ride off this mountain.” 

 

“Fraid I can’t do that, kid. My partner and I--”

 

“Your partner is dead,” Kevin spat out. 

 

Bobby’s eyes narrowed slightly--a subtle shift that made Kevin’s chest tighten. “Well, I’m mighty sorry to hear that. He was a good man. You didn’t have to do that.” 

 

“Get out of here.” Now he sounded shrill and he swallowed hard. “Just get the hell out of here. Go back and tell them I’m dead. Tell them not to send any more people to look for me.” 

 

“You’re a killer, kid. Just like him.” He tilted his head slightly, nodding at Sam. “If you come with me, we can tell the authorities that the Winchester are responsible and you won’t hang.” 

 

“And if I don’t come with you?” 

 

“I’ll have to bury you up here with him.” 

 

_ I’ll have to bury you with him. _ Kevin didn’t hear the threat, only the confirmation that Sam was gone, and Sam would never hold him again or kiss him. In that moment, it seemed that Kevin had lost the only thing that ever truly mattered to him. He didn’t want to return to his comfortable apartment in New York; he didn’t miss his parents or think his future at the University of California. The life he’d been building for himself was in bits and fragments behind him, as dead as the man who’d ripped it all from him in the first place. 

 

His finger moved over the trigger and the kickback from the gun was so powerful it almost sent him flying off the back of the horse. He fired without aiming, too shocked and upset to consider his actions beyond the immediate need to destroy the man who destroyed his love. He had to struggle to regain his balance, once again narrowly avoiding taking a fall off the horse, and when he righted himself, he noticed the fresh splash of red against the snow. 

 

For the space of a heartbeat, nobody moved. Kevin stared at the bleeding man and he stared back, mouth opening and closing with undeniable shock. Kevin wanted to apologize, wanted to explain that he hadn’t really meant to do that, but Sam was  _ gone _ and what else was he supposed to do? He dropped to his knees, his hands going to the giant hole in his chest. Then he fell forward, face first into the snow, the red growing and growing around him. 

 

Kevin dropped the gun and slid off the back of the horse, losing his balance and gracelessly dropping to his hands and knees in the snow. His stomach heaved and he bitter coffee and bile stung the back of his throat. He swallowed hard, forcing it back down, then swallowed again to fight the tears, and again, and again. He lost his battle against his stomach and heaved once, burning his throat and choking before finally pushing himself to his feet. He stumbled through the snow, numb from the neck down, shaking violently. He shuffled through the bloody snow to finally fall to his knees at Sam’s side, his head dropping to Sam’s chest. 

 

Which rose and fell with a shallow breath. 

 

Kevin gasped and pressed his ear flat against Sam’s chest, listening for his heart. It wasn’t easy, but he caught the faint, but steady sound. He sat up and gripped Sam’s chin, turning his head to the side to reveal the gushing wound on his temple. It bled profusely, but it appeared to be just a graze. The bullet definitely had not shattered his skull. 

 

He wasn’t dead yet, but if Kevin left him there in the snow, he would be soon. 

 

He grabbed a handful of snow and used it to clear the blood from his skin, then reached for another and another, until his face was mostly clean, stained pink instead of scarlett. His blood still flowed freely, however, and Kevin knew he had to apply pressure to make it stop. He needed a bandage or a rag, but nothing like that was available. He knew he only had one option, and he ripped his own shirt off, letting the buttons fly. He quickly wrapped it around Sam’s head, wincing as the blood spread through the material, blossoming like a rose in the spring. 

 

“Sam, you got to wake up. Sam? Sam, please, you must wake up. I can’t move you without help. You’ve got to wake up. Sam?” He shook the unconscious man gently, even tried to slap his cheek, but the big man didn’t move at all. 

 

Kevin sat back on his heels, the strength draining from his limbs as he realized that he was still too late. He couldn’t save Sam. Not alone. Not like this. All he could do was curl into Sam’s side and wait for the cold to take both of them. 

 

“Sam... _ please _ . Just for a minute. Just long enough to get to the horse. You’ve got to get to the horse. I can’t carry you...I can’t drag you. I can’t...you have to do something. I can’t do this alone. Please.” 

 

He might as well be talking to the horse. Or a rock. It did no good. 

 

A sound pierced the veil of his despair and he lifted his head, listening intently, hoping to hear it again. Praying it wasn’t only his imagination. After a few moments, he heard it again. A sharp whistle. Two notes, rising and falling. He recognized the pattern and this time, he found the ability to respond. Weakly, at first, but his second attempt was much stronger.  He couldn’t tell exactly where the sound came from, or the distance involved, but it was enough to give him a shot of hope. And that hope was enough to push him to his feet

 

He paced around the bodies at his feet, rubbing his arms and keeping his blood circulating as he returned Cas’s whistles. When he felt like falling down, numb with cold and exhaustion, he reminded himself that Cas could save Sam. He had to keep going because Cas could save Sam and that was all that mattered. Occasionally he shoved a handful of snow in his mouth to keep his lips and tongue wet, but the real enemy was the cold. The sun climbed higher and higher in the sky, but it only shed light over the clearing, it didn’t spread any warmth. 

 

He only paused in his pacing to check on Sam--he checked Sam’s pulse obsessively, convinced each time that he wouldn’t be able to find the thready beat in his neck. But Sam held on, despite the cold and the blood. Somehow. Maybe it was a miracle. Maybe God was on their side, and if Kevin kept up his constant litany of prayers, Sam wouldn’t be taken from him. 

 

Finally, after what could have been hours, he heard a voice answer him. But not the voice he was expecting. 

 

“Kevin? Kevin!” 

 

Dean Winchester filled his vision, racing toward him with surprising speed for a dead man. 

 

“Sam,” Kevin choked out. That was all he could manage before the cold and the shock finally overwhelmed him, and he collapsed to his hands and knees. “Sam…” 

 

“We got you. It’s okay. We got you.” 


	9. Chapter 9

The argument between Dean and Cas was short-lived but intense and Kevin wasn’t surprised when Dean got his way in the end. He listened to the debate with his eyes closed, keeping his breathing even so nobody would notice he was awake.  Something about the edge in Dean’s voice reawakened his old fear of the man and Kevin’s sense of self-preservation had him keep still and quiet until the conversation was over. 

 

They had to travel southeast while the weather held--staying in the cabin would only put them in greater danger. “And not just of freezing. Where there’s one Pinkerton, there’s a dozen more. They swarm.” But Dean couldn’t deny Cas completely, and so Kevin and Sam were allowed one night to rest and recover. Sam’s wound was superficial, and he woke shortly after Kevin. The first thing he did was rest his hand over Kevin’s heart.  

 

Only after assuring himself of Kevin’s safety did Sam focus on his brother’s face. “Dean! You’re alive. I thought...I didn’t know if you’d make it.” 

 

“I know, but heaven don’t want me and hell won’t have me, so here I am. What the hell happened here?” 

 

“We were preparing to ride to Starvation.” Sam paused briefly. “I heard two riders and I knew they weren’t you. I thought I’d lead them from the cabin and double back to get the drop on them, but I guess they saw it coming.” 

 

“They were Pinkertons.” 

 

Sam gingerly touched his temple. “Aren’t Pinkertons supposed to be better shots?” 

 

“You got lucky, I guess. So they both followed you?” 

 

“I thought so.” 

 

“And you didn’t take out either one of them?” 

 

“I didn’t get the chance  It’s a good thing you got here when you did.” 

 

“It wasn’t us,” Cas said. “It was our new friend. Took one out with a hatchet and shot the other in the throat.” 

 

“What?” Sam sounded genuinely shocked.  “That’s…How did he do that?” 

 

“He’s resourceful,” Cas said. 

 

“He’s a killer.” 

 

“Is he hurt?” 

 

“He’s cold. Lucky he doesn’t have any serious frost bite, but he’s not wounded.” Cas’s voice softened slightly. “He’ll be fine. He should be awake in the morning.” 

 

“Awake or not, we  _ have _ to head out. The weather won’t hold for much longer and I  _ told _ you this wasn’t a safe place to hide.” 

 

“It’s safe enough to for--” 

 

“No. It’s too dangerous. How do we know there isn’t a whole herd of Pinkertons behind these two bastards? And I told you, this cabin is too out in the open.” 

 

“I’m not leaving here if he’s not ready to travel.” 

 

“You heard Cas. He’ll be awake in the morning. You were the one who got shot at.” 

 

Sam briefly touched his cheek before pushing himself to his feet, and Kevin turned into the caress without opening his eyes. He wanted to reach out and cling to his lover, but he couldn’t stop Sam from leaving the warm pile of furs. 

 

“How are you feeling?” Sam asked his brother. 

 

“My arm hurts like hell, but I’ll live. We came down as soon as we could, but that storm has us snowed in.” 

 

“I’m sorry.” 

 

Dean shook his head. “You did the right thing.” 

 

“Leaving you was not the right thing.” 

 

“You need to take care of you, Sam. Especially when I’m not around to do it. What about the parchment?” 

 

“We have it. It’s safe.” 

 

“I know. I found it. I also found this.” Dean held up a crinkled piece of paper, both side of which were lined with Kevin’s tight handwriting. Sam had watched him, sometimes for hours at a time, scrawling notes to himself, until the page was completely filled and he had only one conclusion. 

 

“Did he tell you what he wrote here?” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

“Do you believe him?” 

 

Sam sighed. “Yes.” 

 

“You don’t think he’s wrong? That maybe he wasn’t the right guy for this job?” 

 

“No, I don’t think he’s wrong.” 

 

“But the others--” 

 

“The others were just telling you what you wanted to hear. Kevin doesn’t do that. He’s always been honest with us. I think he’s right. I think...I think the parchment is worthless.” 

 

“Then what do we need to keep him around for?” 

 

Sam’s throat was suddenly dry and he opened his mouth, but he knew his brother, and he knew there wasn’t a good answer to that question.  Cas spoke first. 

 

“Dean, this might not be the best time to have this conversation.” 

 

“It’s the perfect time to have this conversation,” Dean said flatly. “This is a three man show. He’s an extra mouth to feed, and they will send more agents after him. As long as he’s with us, we’re not going to get a single minute of peace.” 

 

“He saved my life, Dean.” 

 

“He’s a giant target. Now that was fine when he had a job to do, but that job is done. Cas, you agree with me, don’t you?” 

 

“Don’t bring him into this. It has nothing to do with him.” 

 

“He gets a say here, too.” 

 

“Why? Because he warms your bed at night? We don’t need him and he has a bounty on his head, too. So why is this a three man show?” 

 

“You have a problem with Cas all of a sudden?” 

 

“No. I have a problem with  _ you _ , Dean. And I’m not going to let you do anything to Kevin. You want him, you’ll have to come through me.” 

 

“Sam, don’t say anything you don’t mean.” 

 

“I’m serious, Dean. I’m not going to let you or anybody else hurt him.” 

 

“It’s going to be like that?” 

 

“Yes. He saved my life. He...saved me.” 

 

“Without me, you wouldn’t  _ have _ a life,” Dean shot back. “What about all those times I was there for you. All those times I took care of you when we were kids.” 

 

“You’ve always been there, Dean, don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I remember all that...I’m alive now because of you. But I would be lying in the snow dead if it weren’t for  _ him _ .” 

 

“But it’s more than that, isn’t it?” 

 

“This doesn’t have to be a choice, Dean.  I didn’t make you choose. I never would.” 

 

Dean’s eyes flickered and he lowered his voice. “It’s not  _ safe, _ Sam.” 

 

“We’re never safe. We never have been. We’re alive, though, and I’m tired of living like I’m already in the ground. If he makes you so nervous, we’ll winter somewhere else. We’ll go to Rhodes Valley.” 

 

“Don’t say that, Sam. We’re better together than we are apart.” 

 

“Then don’t make me choose.” 

 

Dean responded by stomping out of the cabin and slamming the door behind him. 

 

“He’s not going to make you choose,” Cas said. “He’s...he’s not going to risk it.” 

 

“You should probably go. Make sure he’s okay.” 

 

“How are you feeling? Does your head hurt? I may have something to help with the pain if you need it.” 

 

“I feel fine, Cas. Never felt better.” 

 

“You nearly had your head taken off.” 

 

“I guess he wasn’t a very good shot.” 

 

It was all Kevin could do to keep from fidgeting while they talked. Finally, Cas excused himself to follow Dean outside. As soon as the door shut, Kevin felt Sam’s hands on his shoulders. He lifted him from the fur and pressed his mouth to Kevin’s in a hard kiss. Kevin was startled into parting his lips and his tongue immediately pushed into his mouth. They’d shared passionate kisses before, but this was more than passion. It sparked a fire in Kevin’s stomach, and he wrapped his arms around Sam’s neck, burying fingers in his long hair until Sam finally lifted his head and allowed him to breathe. 

 

“I know you heard all of that.” 

 

“How?” 

 

“I know when you’re sleeping. When you’re not. You can’t fool me.” 

 

“I’m glad I can fool him.” 

 

Sam smiled a little and ran his thumb back and forth over Kevin’s jaw. “Why did you do that? They were coming to save you.” 

 

Kevin swallowed hard. “They were after you.” 

 

“Because we kidnapped you, Kevin. You’re our prisoner.” 

 

“Is that how you view me?” 

 

Sam shook his head. “No.” 

 

“Me neither. And I don’t want to go back.” Kevin took a deep breath. “This is my home now.” 

 

“This cabin is nobody’s home.”

 

“No, not the cabin. I...want to be where you are.” 

 

Kevin wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but it wasn’t the long sigh and deep frown that he received. “You don’t belong here.  You belong in an actual house with a wife and a family and...a life. If you stay here...with me...you’re never going to have that. You might not even live to see the next winter.” 

 

“What are you saying? I thought you...don’t you...want me to stay with you?” 

 

“Yes. More than anything else I ever thought mattered. That’s why I can’t let you stay here. I can’t let you go through a winter at Starvation. It’s called Starvation for a reason, Kevin. Me and Dean...we’re used to pretty bad shit. And Cas, well, I think he’s probably too stubborn to die. But you…” 

 

“You think I’m weak,” Kevin said flatly. 

 

“No. You’ve proven again and again that you’re not weak. But I do think you’re better than this. I’m going to take you off this mountain.” 

 

“Take me where?” 

 

“You can spend the winter in Salt Lake and then head to California in the spring.” 

 

“What about what I want to do?” 

 

“Keeping you safe is the only thing that matters.” 

 

“Sam…please.” 

 

“I’m sorry, Kevin. But you know it has to be this way. My best case scenario is I freeze to death before they hang me. You can’t live this way. Nobody knows what happened up here. Nobody ever will. Dean will see to that. You can go back to your normal life.” 

 

“Like this never happened?” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

Kevin shook his head and tried to swallow around the dry lump in his throat. Sam was wrong. He was wrong in so many ways and Kevin wanted to tell him every single one, but Sam was already turning away from him. The conversation was over. Kevin knew he should be ecstatic to return to civilization, to return to warmth, and libraries, and real food, and the life he always knew. He could go back to Boston or on to California or anywhere in between. Sam was giving him his life back, and in many ways, that life was all the more precious because it could have ended. 

 

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t imagine the shape his life would take without Sam in it. And he knew Sam could never exist in the world where Kevin belonged. 

 

#

 

Once Sam’s mind was made up, there was nothing else to say. At least, as far as he was concerned. He could see the argument lurking in Kevin’s eyes, but he didn’t give him the chance to state his case. He kept his distance, though the last thing he wanted to do was avoid Kevin. He wanted to horde every second they had together, wanted to create enough memories to keep him warm for all the lonely, cold nights ahead of him. Instead of crawling under the furs and pulling Kevin against him, he busied himself with scrounging together their dinner. Cas and Dean returned as Sam began to warm the beans, and he could see the question in Dean’s eyes.

 

“I’m going to take him to Salt Lake,” Sam said softly as Dean joined him by the fire. 

 

“What if he talks?” 

 

“He killed two men to keep us safe, Dean. He’s not going to talk. He’s going to go back to his life and he’ll be fine.” 

 

“What’s the plan? You going to make it down to Salt Lake and leave him there?” 

 

“He won’t be able to go to California until the spring, and I don’t want him in Starvation.” 

 

“It’s probably too late in the year to get through to Salt Lake.” 

 

“I’ll get him there.” 

 

“Maybe...maybe you were right earlier.” The words didn’t come easy for Dean. Sam knew his brother well enough to keep his mouth shut and wait for Deal to elaborate. “About taking him down to Rhodes Valley.” 

 

“For the winter?” 

 

“Yes.  And maybe take him on to California after the thaw.” 

 

“Are you...what are you saying, Dean?” 

 

“You’re not wanted for anything in California. Your face isn’t on wanted signs and the Pinkertons won’t know to look for you there. And after these two don’t check in, their friends will be coming to find them.” 

 

Sam swallowed. “Are you sending me away? Ten minutes ago, you wanted to kill Kevin.” 

 

“I always want the same thing, Sam. You know, I remember when she brought you home. She sat me down and she said, ‘Now this is Sammy, and you need to take care of him. He’s your responsibility now.’ That’s why I cared so much about that damned parchment, you know?” 

 

Sam shook his head. Truth was, he never fully understood Dean’s obsession. He wasn’t a man who seemed to care about treasure and money, he never was. Sam kept track of the money and Cas was usually in charge of supplies these days. 

 

“I wanted to have a home. I thought if we had the money we could settle down somewhere and have a respectable life.” 

 

Sam snorted. “You’d be so bored. You’d hate having a respectable life.” 

 

“Yeah. But you might like it. Imagine, sleeping in a bed every night and not looking over your shoulder, or freezing your balls off every day. Imagine eating three meals a day and always having hot coffee.” 

 

“Why this sudden change? Did Cas talk some sense into you?” 

 

“He told me some things that maybe I didn’t want to hear.” 

 

“But when Cas talks, you listen.” 

 

“He can be very persuasive.” 

 

“If I go, I might never come back, Dean.” 

 

“I know. But if you stay...you may not see another winter. All I’m saying is, you should do what you want to do. If you want to be with Kevin, you should be with him. If you want to have a life, you should have one. I’m not going to stand in your way.” He slapped Sam on the shoulder and gave him a light squeeze. Sam mustered a smile, but it felt as strained as Dean’s looked. He looked from his brother to where Kevin slept--or pretended to sleep--in his furs, and felt a strange twinge in his chest. He didn’t want to leave his brother. He couldn’t imagine saying goodbye to Kevin. 

 

Could he have a new life? Was that possible? Did he even deserve it? 


	10. Chapter 10

The smell of the cabin burning  followed Kevin and Sam for miles as they headed west through the canyon. Kevin didn’t see Dean start the fire, but he understood that was how he planned to dispose of the two bodies, and he hadn’t left anything behind to be lost in the fire. Except his heart. And maybe his soul. It felt like the best part of him had been abandoned and burned in that cabin.

 

Sam told him they wouldn’t make any long stops until they reached the valley. As long as the weather held, it would be best to travel straight through with the occasional pause to rest and see to the horse. Kevin didn’t care if they stopped or if they didn’t. He found it difficult to care about anything, knowing that Sam planned to drop him off the horse and abandon him at his first chance. He’d heard Sam and Dean discussing Rhodes Valley, so he figured Sam didn’t even plan to take him all the way to Salt Lake.

 

He hoped he would feel better once he returned to his real life. He hoped the conveniences of a warm bed and a deep bathtub and freshly prepared food would overwhelm his sadness and hide his sorrow. He had to hold on to these hopes because he had no reason to ever believe it would be the truth. But in the meantime, he had his arms wrapped around Sam’s trunk, his cheek pressed to Sam’s back, and the bitter wind was blowing behind them rather than directly into their faces.

 

Kevin felt a subtle change in the weather as they descended from the mountains. The air didn’t get _warm_ , but it didn’t burn his lungs, didn’t permeate his flesh to the bone. Sometimes, when he turned his face up to the sun, he felt the heat through his eyelids and against his lips and it made him long for the promised heat of California. At least there was that to look forward to.

 

Sam remained silent as they traveled, and Kevin didn’t have the energy to try to draw him into a conversation. Even knowing it would likely be his last opportunity to hear Sam’s voice before he abandoned Kevin and rode out of his life, he just didn’t have the energy to open his mouth. Instead, he relived every minute of their time together, from the moment Sam pulled him off the wagon train until they mounted the horse to ride out of the canyon.  Kevin was looking for something, anything, to explain Sam’s decision to send him away. But he couldn’t find it.

 

It took two days of hard traveling to reach Rhodes Valley. They rode into the small settlement a few hours after dark, but it still didn’t take long for their presence to be noted. The small party that greeted them on the street seemed pleased to see Sam, and they immediately invited him down off the horse and into the nearest cabin for dinner. Kevin’s legs were numb and stiff when he slid off the horse, and he would have fell on his face if it wasn’t for Sam, who calmly kept his arm around Kevin, supporting his weight.

 

Dinner was at an actual table. There was venison and salt pork and potatoes and bread with strawberry preserves. There was buttermilk and coffee and clear water from the well. Kevin had three helpings of everything, eating until his stomach felt bloated and even then, the lovely lady of the house, Merry Hoyt, insisted he eat more. When he declined, she announced it was time for dessert, and he was faced with  a truly distressing piece of cake. But it felt so good to be so full, and he couldn’t decline the thick piece of cake.

 

When he was done, he couldn’t keep his eyes open. His chin continuously dropped to his chest, and his eyes felt like they had weights attached. But he fought the urge to sleep as much as possible, staying at the table while Kyle Hoyt and Sam talked until Merry announced it was time for the children to go to bed.  They shared a large bed in the corner of the cabin’s larger room. The smaller room included a feather bed, and Kyle and Merry happily gave it up to their guests.

 

The bed did him in. As soon as he stretched out, warm and comfortable and _warm_ and not on the floor, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 

When he woke, untold hours later, he was alone. He remembered Sam had half-carried him to the bed, had been there when Kevin succumbed to sleep, but now he was gone. Gone, and Kevin didn’t even have the chance to say goodbye to him. Maybe that was for the best.  Another chance to say goodbye wouldn’t change anything. He wondered if he would be staying with the Hoyt family for the rest of the winter, wondered how he would ever find his way out of the wilderness. Wondered if he would be expected to get out of bed, or if the generous family would leave him to rest and gather his thoughts.

 

He never should have told Sam the truth about the parchment. He should have milked it for as long as he could, should have insisted it was too hard, that he couldn’t be expected to translate something like that without the use of a library.  He didn’t even have Dean breathing down his neck. After everything they went through, Dean would have given him more time to translate and why had he ever opened his mouth?

 

He should have lied. He should have lied and kept on lying until Sam would never dream of letting him leave.

 

But he’d solved the mystery and he’d been so full of excitement, so eager for the expected praise that it never occurred to him to keep his mouth shut. When he completed a task, he turned it in, he showed his work. It never occurred to him that it might be best to just keep his mouth shut.

 

Why had he ever told the truth?

 

Kevin couldn’t face getting out of the bed. Not until he absolutely had to. And nobody came for him, so he lingered on the full mattress until he fell asleep again. When he woke, his legs were seizing, cramping from his ankle to his hips. He cried out as agony twisted down his calves, and he felt each muscle ball up under his skin, keeping him bent and twisted.

 

“Shhh. Here. Drink this.” A huge hand pried his mouth open and then cool water poured from the ladle. He felt like his was drowning, but the hand wouldn’t let him turn his head away, and soon his throat was working, swallowing it down so he wouldn’t drown.  As soon as the water was gone, the ladle disappeared and the hands holding him down began to move, began to knead the muscles, pushing them flat, creating new heights of pain rather than offering any release.

 

Kevin tried to squirm away, tried to make the hands stop, but he was overpowered. Overpowered and overwhelmed, and all he could manage was a weak, “I thought you were gone.”

 

“No. I’m here. Hold still. I’m trying to help.”

 

“I thought you were gone,” Kevin repeated, almost beyond comprehension as the first waves of relief hit him. Sam didn’t answer, just continued his work until Kevin could almost breathe normally. His muscles still danced and quivered, but the worst of the cramps were gone, and Kevin could keep his legs straight with little effort.

 

“I thought you were gone,” Kevin whispered, pleading for an explanation.

 

“No. I couldn’t…”

 

“You couldn’t?”

 

“No. I couldn’t.”

 

“What are you going to do?” Kevin couldn’t help himself from reaching out and touching the face he was sure he’d never see again.

 

“Dean seems to think I’d like life in California.  What do you think?”

 

“I don’t even know if I’d like life in California. But...I like life with you. Would you really come with me? If you don’t want to life in California, I’ll stay here with you. I’m happy to.”

 

Sam shook his head. “No. No. This isn’t the life for you, Kevin. Me and Dean...we’re killers. Cas is a murderer. But you’re not. You weren’t until we...until I...turned you into one. You’re the finest man I’ve ever known, and I don’t want you to die up here, and I sure don’t want you to hang as a convicted man.”

 

“What about you, though? Won’t you hang if you’re caught?”

 

“We can stay here for the winter and travel to California in the spring. No bounty on my head there. If I lead a quiet life, I should stay out of trouble.”

 

“Is that what you want?”

 

Sam smiled a little. “Yes. I want that. More than I want anything me and Dean could steal from a stagecoach.”

 

“But...you may never see your brother again.” It pained Kevin to point it out, but they had to address that issue.

 

“We’ve said our piece to each other. I’m sure our trails will meet again. But he’s never...he’s never going to leave the path he’s on. He’s happy there, no matter where it takes him. But it’s not a road I need to join him on. Anyway, he has Cas. They’ll take care of each other.”

 

“You’re going to stay with me.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And you’re going to come with me?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“I should be thanking you.” Sam cupped the back of his head, cradling him with strong fingers.

 

“Why?”

 

Sam kissed him and Kevin’s heart jumped to his throat.  “For all the times you saved me.”


End file.
